ISflBELSUflRTROBSON 


SMITHS 
ACRPS  OP  BOOKS 
><«•  PACIFIC  AVKNUf 
MACK  CALIF 


MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 
Price  75  c. 

A  GIRL  WITHOUT  AMBITION 

With  Four  Illustrations 

"  <PA  Girl  Without  Ambition '  ought  to  be  read  by 
every  college  girl.  ...  An  unhackneyed  plot,  keen 
powers  of  observation  and  a  rarely  pleasing  style  ren- 
der '  The  Girl  Without  Ambition '  captivating  from 
beginning  to  end.  It  is  the  equal  of  anything  Louisa 
M.  Alcott  ever  wrote.  No  more  praise  could  be  given 
any  writer  of  girls'  stories." 

— The  Chicago  Times- Her  aid. 

DAVID  McKAY,  PUBLISHER 
PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 


"She  looked  at  him  long  and  pitifully"  (p.  166). 


Frontia. 


MRS.  PEDERSON'S 
NIECE 


ISABEL  SUART  ROBSON 

Autbor  of 
"A  Girl  Without  Ambition  " 


PHILADELPHIA 

DAVID    McKAY,    PUBLISHER 
610  SOUTH  WASHINGTON  SQUARE 


Cofyrtghty  IQOI,  by 
CASSELL  AND  COMPANY,  LIMITED 


URL 
SRLF 


INTRODUCTION 


Long  ago  I  asked  a  young  American  girl 
what  quality  she  most  admired  in  her  girl  friends, 
Und  her  prompt  reply  was:  "Oh,  courage!  The 
courage  that  is  never  daunted  by  circumstances 
and  that  goes  out  to  meet  the  disagreeables  of 
life  with  flags  flying  and  drums  beating !  "  It  is 
in  the  hope  that  this  friend  of  my  youth  voiced 
the  feelings  of  American  girls  of  to-day,  that  I 
send  this  story  of  English  girlhood  across  the 
Atlantic. 

Hilary  and  Frances  and  Ursula  are  types  of 
girlhood  neither  rare  nor  idealized  and  nationality 
has  little  indeed  to  do  with  Hilary's  buoyancy 
and  resourcefulness  under  adverse  fortune,  or 
with  Ursula's  serenity  and  fixity  of  purpose,  or 
with  Frances  Skone's  mistaken  eagerness  for  suc- 
cess in  the  work  she  has  chosen. 

For  girls  of  all  ages  and  nations  my  heart 
beats  warmly ;  it  touches  me  at  all  times,  to 
watch  them 

"  Standing  with  reluctant  feet 
Where  the  brook  and  river  meet." 


I  know  how  they  look  at  the  future  through  a 
golden  haze  and  that  "it  beckons  them  with  a 
thousand  fingers  promising  beautiful  possibilities," 
and  I  prize  more  deeply  than  I  can  tell  every 
opportunity  that  comes  to  me  to  say  a  word  of 
inspiration  or  encouragement.  It  is  my  hope 
that  this  story  of  Hilary  and  her  friends  will  help 
some  girl  across  the  seas  to  take  up  with  cheerful 
courage  the  work  which  has  been  given  her  to  do 
in  the  world  of  school  or  home ;  not  forsaking  all 
other  duties  in  complete  self-absorption  as  Frances 
did,  but  like  Hilary,  who  strove  after  the  beauti- 
ful example  of  Pater's  Marius  the  Epicurean, 
"  not  to  be  wanting  to  the  claims  of  others,  in 
their  joys  no  less  than  in  their  calamities." 

Life  has  its  difficult  and  sad  sides  even  for  girls 
as  young  as  my  heroine  and  all  the  future  hinges 
on  the  way  they  learn  to  face  troubles.  Hilary's 
story,  and  that  of  those  with  whom  her  life  was 
bound  up,  would  have  been  a  strangely  different 
one  had  she  elected  to  hang  the  world  in  black 
because  she  had  lost  much  she  was  girl  enough 
to  prize  highly. 

To  me  the  three  girls,  part  of  whose  history 
I  have  told,  are  not  merely  "  dream-girls,"  with 
whom  I  have  lived  happily  for  months  and  to 
whom  I  must  now  say  "  good-bye."  Under  other 
names  and  in  somewhat  different  circumstances 


they  form  part  of  my  own  every-day  life  and  it 
would  look  empty  indeed  if  they  slipped  out  of 
it  as  Hilary,  Frances  and  Ursula  must  do.  If 
only  my  readers  in  America  follow  the  history  of 
the  trio  with  as  much  interest  as  the  originals 
have  done,  I  shall  have  no  reason  to  fear  that  I 
have  failed  to  make  them  live  in  the  pages  of  my 

book. 

ISABEL  SUART  ROBSON. 


CONTENTS. 


I.  WHEN  CHANGES  COME      ...        »~        *..  i 

II.    FRANCES      ...        ...        «• " 

III.  COBWEBS      ~.        ...        —  23 

IV.  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  VISITOR  ...        ~.  34 
V.    A  NEW  FRIEND      « ~..  56 

VI.    AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING          76 

VII.    THE  STORM  BURSTS          90 

VIII.  FRANCES  REFUSES  TO  INTERFERE           ...  106 

IX.    A  STEP  DOWN  IN  THE  WORLD 123 

X.  "BATESON'S     SELECT    BOARDING     ESTAB- 
LISHMENT"           135 

XI.  WHAT  BECAME  OF  THE  SOVEREIGNS?     ...  145 

XII.    HILARY  TAKES  HER  OWN  WAY 157 

XIII.  A  COTTAGE  IN  A  WOOD 172 

XIV.  A  CADMEAN  VICTORY        »..  181 

XV.    QUITE  AN  OCCASION         195 

XVI.    FAIRMEAD    ...        ...        204, 


vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAP.  TAG* 

XVII.  "LET  us  FORGET  TO  BE  WISE" 212 

XVIII.  A  DISASTER           220 

XIX.  DARK  DAYS  AT  THE  COTTAGE     230 

XX.  THE  VALLEY  OF  SHADOWS           M.        ...  243 

XXI.  IN  THE  FURROWS 253 

XXII.  THE  AWAKENING  OF  FRANCES    ...        ...  259 

XXIII.  IN  THE  HOUR  OF  PERIL  ...       _       ...  267 


MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

CHAPTER    I. 

WHEN    CHANGES     COME. 

°IT  is  the  most  unexpected  and  the  most 
annoying  thing  that  could  ever  happen,"  said 
Hilary  Pederson,  staring  out  of  the  window 
into  the  wide  courtyard,  white  and  still  in 
the  afternoon  sunshine. 

She  stood  in  the  middle  of  Madame  Brun's 
private  parlour,  with  an  expression  of  angry 
bewilderment  on  her  usually  radiant  and  beau- 
tiful face.  She  was  a  girl  of  eighteen,  straight 
and  slim  as  a  young  palm  tree,  with  blue 
eyes  sparkling  with  life,  and  lips  which  curved 
readily  into  a  smile. 

"  Of  course,  I  am  sorry  for  poor  Uncle 
Gervase,"  she  went  on,  without  looking  at 
the  old  French  lady  who  sat  at  the  table,  an 
open  letter  in  her  hand ;  "  but  he  had  no  right 
to  arrange  my  future  for  me  in  this  fashion." 

"The   right  of  those    who   provide  for  us, 


2  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECB. 

I  suppose,"  Madame  Brun  reminded  her  gently. 
She  was  sufficiently  in  sympathy  with  her 
favourite  pupil,  however,  to  feel  that  the  girl 
had  some  grounds  for  her  protest.  It  was 
only  natural  that  she  should  shrink  from  leaving 
the  little  community  of  which,  for  ten  years, 
she  had  formed  an  integral  and  important 
factor ;  and,  certainly,  the  late  Major  Pederson 
had  taken  a  high-handed  and  imperious  way 
to  gain  his  own  end. 

She  glanced  again  at  the  letter  she  held  in 
her  hand.  It  was  a  lawyer's  letter  announcing 
his  late  client's  death  and  that  a  legacy  or 
ninety  pounds  a  year  had  been  left  to  Hilary 
on  condition  that  she  made  her  home  with  the 
widowed  Mrs.  Pederson. 

u  Nothing  would  have  induced  me  to  make 
anyone's  dependence  a  handle  to  force  her  to 
do  unpleasant  things,"  Hilary  said  impatiently. 
"  I  have  been  so  happy  here,  dear  Madame, 
that  I  hate  the  mere  thought  of  leaving  Paris." 

The  old  lady  nodded.  "It  is  ten  years 
since  your  uncle  brought  you,  and  never  once 
have  we  been  parted,"  she  said  affectionately. ' 
"Yes,  it  will  be  hard,  very  hard,  to  part  with 
you,  my  little  one.  Other  English  girls  have 
come  and  gone,  charming  girls,  many  of  them, 


WHEN  CHANGES  COME.  3 

but  they  never  stayed  long  enough  to  win  the 
heart.  You  have  been  to  me  as  my  own 
child." 

Hilary  Pederson's  lips  quivered,  and  she 
tapped  her  foot  restlessly  on  the  polished  floor. 
She  knew  that  in  the  Pension  Brun  she  held 
a  unique  position.  As  the  oldest  resident  pupil 
and  the  only  one  who  never  left  its  shelter, 
she  had  many  privileges,  and  life  there  had  run 
for  her  on  pleasant  lines.  She  was  called  now  to 
relinquish  all  that  had  made  home  and  happi- 
ness during  these  years,  and  what  was  offered  her 
in  exchange  seemed  hopelessly  inadequate  to 
compensate  her.  Every  fibre  of  her  being 
prompted  her  to  say  an  emphatic  "no"  to  her 
uncle's  dying  injunction,  whilst  common  sense 
told  her  that  she  had  not  a  shadow  of  a  reason 
for  refusing  to  obey  it. 

"Of  course,  I  must  do  as  Uncle  Gervase 
directs,"  she  said  aloud.  "  It  would  be  different 
if  I  knew  and  cared  for  Aunt  Sophie.  But  I 
can't  flatter  myself  that,  after  forgetting  my 
existence  lor  five  years,  I  have  suddenly  be- 
come dear  and  desirable  to  her." 

"  My  dear,  we  must  not  judge,"  said  Madame, 
shaking  her  head. 

"  I'm  not  judging,  I'm  stating  a  probability," 


4  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

Hilary  replied,  laughing  a  little.  "Her  letter 
to  me  is  kind  enough — a  little  too  effusive, 
perhaps,  but  that  may  be  her  way.  What  I 
want  explained  is  this :  if  she  wants  me  so 
inordinately  now,  why  has  she  never  written 
to  me  or  asked  me  to  visit  her  before  ?  " 

"She  was  not  alone  then,"  Madame  put  in 
softly. 

Hilary's  lip  curled.  "Did  Uncle  Gervase 
strike  you  as  an  all-sufficing  companion  ? 
Stiff,  dull,  commonplace,  that's  how  I  remember 
him.  Altogether  English,  you  know." 

"My  child,  you  are  English  also,"  Madame 
replied,  laughing,  though  with  a  trace  of  anxiety 
in  her  faded  eyes.  She  never  saw  a  fault  in 
her  favourite  if  she  could  possibly  help  it, 
but  it  jarred  on  her  sense  of  propriety  that 
the  girl  should  criticise  her  dead  uncle  in  this 
frankly  disrespectful  fashion.  It  was  not  sur- 
prising, she  was  bound  to  confess.  He  had 
maintained  the  girl  generously,  but  he  had 
done  nothing,  in  all  the  ten  years  since  her 
parents  left  her  to  his  care,  to  win  her  affection 
or  respect.  He  had  been  almost  a  stranger  to 
her.  During  her  life  under  Madame  Brun's  roof 
he  had  visited  her  only  some  half-dozen  times, 
and  then  for  the  briefest  space.  His  wife, 


WHEN  CHANGES  COME.  5 

married  five  years  ago,  Hilary  had  never  seen, 
and  the  first  letter  the  girl  received  from  her 
was  to  announce  the  Major's  death. 

With  every  wish  to  maintain  family  affection, 
Madame  Brun  could  not  feel  surprised  that 
Hilary's  liking  for  her  relatives  was  of  the 
most  tepid  character.  She  took  comfort,  how- 
ever, in  her  knowledge  of  the  girl,  and  told 
herself  that  Hilary  belonged  to  that  fortunate 
class  who  are  happy  anywhere,  and  make 
friends  in  the  most  unlikely  places. 

"You  will  find  Mrs.  Pederson  companionable 
enough,  I  doubt  not,"  she  said  dully.  "I  have 
no  fear  but  that  you  will  find  a  happy  home, 
cherie.  The  regret  and  the  blankness  will  be 
with  those  you  leave  behind  you." 

Hilary  threw  back  her  head  with  a  quick, 
impatient  gesture. 

"If  you  keep  harping  on  that  string  I  shall 
do  something  desperate,  dear  Madame,"  she 
said,  with  a  catch  in  her  clear  voice.  "  I 
can  keep  up  my  own  spirits,  but  I  can't  keep 
up  yours  too.  Let  us  put  the  whole  tiresome 
business  away  for  awhile.  You  know  we  were 
discussing  our  next  holiday  excursion  when 
this  odious  letter  came.  We  are  going  to  do 
the  Hartz  Mountains  this  time." 


6  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

"We  shall  have  to  give  up  the  Hartz, 
Hilary." 

"  Dear  Madame,  how  preposterous !  Surely 
there  is  not  the  least  necessity  to  pile  that 
disappointment  on  the  mountain  of  my  woes. 
A  few  weeks  more  or  less  cannot  overwhelm 
Mrs.  Pederson  with  grief.  It  will  surely  be  soon 
enough  if  I  go  to  England  when  the  holidays 
are  over  and  the  girls  return." 

Madame  Brun  shook  her  head. 

"  My  child,  I  shrink  from  sending  you  from 
me  a  moment  sooner  than  necessary,  but  there 
are  things  to  be  considered  before  personal 
feelings.  Miss  Smith,  our  second  English 
mistress,  starts  for  London  on  the  day  after 
to-morrow,  and  you  must  travel  with  her.  It 
will  be  a  great  relief  to  me  not  to  be  obliged 
to  commit  you  to  the  care  of  strangers." 

Hilary  laughed.  Miss  Smith  was  barely 
two-and-twenty,  and  though  she  was  a  Girton 
graduate  she  did  not  appear  to  Hilary  as  a 
very  imposing  custodian  of  English  maidenhood. 

"I  might  be  a  crate  of  valuable  china  or  a 
maniac,"  she  cried,  shrugging  her  shoulders. 
"It  is  fortunate  that  I  look  young  for  my  age, 
or  fellow  travellers  would  have  a  difficulty  in 
discerning  which  was  the  chaperone  and  which 


WHEN  CHANGES  COME.  7 

the  chaperoned.  Honestly,  dear  Madame,  don't 
you  think  I  might  be  trusted  to  make  the  journey 
alone  when  we  come  back  from  the  Hartz  ?  I 
hate  to  give  up  the  excursion,  the  very  last 
we  shall  have  together,  and  I  really  feel  as 
capable  of  finding  my  way  as  Miss  Smith  can 
do." 

"  My  dear  Hilary,  I  desire  that  you  travel 
with  Miss  Smith,"  Madame  said  firmly.  "A 
schoolgirl  never  travels  alone.  It  has  never 
been  thought  right  for  her  to  do  so" — an  argu- 
ment which  has  been  considered  conclusive  since 
the  days  of  Job.  "I  must  find  Miss  Smith  at 
once  and  make  arrangements  for  your  journey." 

The  old  lady  left  the  room,  and  Hilary 
soon  followed  her,  taking  her  way  slowly  up 
the  uncarpeted  staircase  to  the  little  white  room 
which  had  been  hers  so  long.  It  had  never 
seemed  so  dear  and  desirable  as  now,  when  it 
was  so  soon  to  have  another  tenant. 

The  prospect  of  Miss  Smith's  company  was 
not  an  exhilarating  one.  She  was  the  one 
person  Hilary  had  ever  found  it  difficult  "  to  get 
on  with,"  and  the  relations  between  them  had 
been,  to  say  the  least,  strained.  Hours  of  her 
society  and  her  undiluted  conversation  presented 
no  attractions.  There  was  scarcely  a  subject 


8  Mas.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

upon  which  they  held  the  same  views,  and 
Hilary  failed  altogether  to  reach  Miss  Smith's 
standard  of  girlish  excellence. 

It  was  Miss  Smith's  conviction  that  the 
passing  of  examinations  and  the  taking  of 
degrees  was  the  only  business  of  a  girl's  life 
worth  pursuing.  Every  day  she  thanked  the 
goodness  and  the  grace  which  on  her  birth 
had  smiled  and  caused  her  to  be  born  in 
an  enlightened  age  which  endowed  colleges 
and  opened  the  doors  of  learned  professions 
to  women.  Hilary's  Gallio-like  spirit  towards 
these  privileges  was  incomprehensible  to  her, 
though  she  openly  affirmed,  and  with  acerbity, 
that  the  atmosphere  of  the  Pension  was  not 
conducive  to  scholastic  ambitions. 

She  had  made  strenuous  efforts  to  imbue 
Hilary  with  desires  for  a  Girton  course,  and 
pointed  out  the  gain  of  a  degree  should  she 
ever  be  thrown  on  her  own  resources  for  a 
livelihood.  The  girl  was  too  happy  with 
Madame  Brun,  and  too  young  and  careless  to 
fear  the  future.  She  turned  only  a  laughing 
ear  to  the  English  mistress'  predictions  ;  whilst 
Uncle  Gervase  was  willing  to  keep  her 
at  the  Pension  Brun,  she  desired  nothing 
better. 


WHEN  CHANGES  COME.  9 

And  now  Circumstance,  often  cruel  and 
always  arbitrary,  was  sending  her  away. 

Hilary  went  to  the  window  and  threw  it 
open.  The  afternoon  was  warm  and  sunshiny, 
with  a  fragrance  of  spring  in  the  air.  She 
leaned  her  elbows  on  the  sill  and  looked  out 
thoughtfully.  The  school  was  situated  in  a 
retired  part  of  Paris,  and  high  walls  enclosed 
the  large  house  and  its  gardens.  Nothing  of  the 
outside  world  was  to  be  seen ;  it  might  have 
been  the  cloister  of  a  convent,  so  absolutely 
was  its  busy  hive  of  girls  guarded  from  every 
contact  with  the  great  city. 

Hilary's  little  room  was  on  the  second  floor, 
and  from  its  window  she  could  see  the  lilac 
and  laburnum  nodding  in  the  light  spring  breeze, 
and  the  golden  and  brown  of  wallflowers  in  the 
borders.  Delicate  green,  the  colour  of  hope, 
met  her  eyes  wherever  they  turned. 

She  was  by  nature  bright  and  buoyant,  and 
as  she  stood  looking  out  on  the  new  life  in  the 
old  garden,  some  of  her  vague  dread  of  an  untried 
future  slipped  from  her.  Why  should  the  world, 
which  had  shown  her  so  smiling  a  face  hitherto, 
be  less  kind  in  the  days  to  come  ? 

She  knew  nothing  of  Mrs.  Pederson,  but 
why  should  that  depress  her  ?  She  had  never 


io  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

known  anyone  yet  who  did  not  mean  her  well 
and  in  whom  she  could  not  feel  interest  in 
some  degree.  Even  poor  Miss  Smith  had  her 
good  points  and  her  hours  when  she  was  quite 
a  pleasant  companion.  She  found  herself  specu- 
lating, as  she  watched  the  little  girls  at  play 
in  the  garden,  as  to  what  "Aunt  Sophie"  was 
like ;  but  such  speculations  were  soon  merged  in 
the  prospect  of  a  life  removed  from  school 
discipline,  a  life  without  rules,  and  which  now 
to  Hilary  seemed  a  life  of  uneven  and  ragged 
edges.  She  had  been  used  for  so  long  to  have 
her  days  set  in  a  frame  that  she  was  not  sure 
that  she  should  like  its  removal. 

After  all,  as  Madame  Brun  said,  it  was 
largely  in  her  own  hands  to  make  her  life,  in 
the  days  to  come,  "worth  while,"  and  she  was 
resolved  that  it  should  not  be  empty  or 
purposeless.  It  must  be  a  difficult  sphere  which 
did  not  promise  some  pleasures  and  compensa- 
tions for  all  she  was  leaving. 

When  the  tea  bell  rang,  Hilary  went  down- 
stairs gaily  humming  a  little  French  song. 
Madame  Brun  noted  a  new  expression  in  the 
frank  young  face  and  smothered  a  sigh. 

The  regret  and  the  sorrow  would  be  for 
those  to  whom  Hilary  was  saying  good-bye,  for 


WHEN  CHANGES  COMB.  n 

though  she  might  feel  the  wrench  of  parting, 
already  the  future  was  beckoning  her,  promising 
a  thousand  things  the  Pension  never  could  give 
her. 


CHAPTER   II. 

FRANCES. 

IT  was  a  chill,  grey  afternoon  when  Hilary 
reached  London.  Spring,  after  promising  beau- 
tiful things,  seemed  to  have  repented  and 
withdrawn  her  warmth  and  colour.  It  was 
altogether  an  inauspicious  day  on  which  to 
make  acquaintance  with  one's  native  land. 

Miss  Smith  had  parted  with  her  charge  at 
Herne  Hill,  where  her  own  journey  ended. 
Long  before  she  reached  Hilary's  age  she  had 
gone  to  and  fro  in  the  earth  without  let  or 
hindrance  and  come  to  no  harm.  She  there- 
fore frankly  disavowed  any  concurrence  in 
Madame  Bran's  apprehensions,  and  when  the 
girl  assured  her  that  she  would  be  met  at  the 
terminus,  left  her  to  finish  the  journey  alone 
without  any  compunction. 

Hilary  said  good-bye  to  her  with  more 
regret  than  she  would  have  thought  possible 
twenty-four  hours  earlier.  She  watched  her 
uncompromising  deerstalker-hat  and  neat  coat 
disappear  in  the  crowd  of  alighting  passengers 


FRANCES.  13 

with  a  sudden  sense  of  chill  and  limpness. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  was  alone 
in  the  big,  bustling  world,  where  everyone  was 
absorbed  in  his  or  her  own  business  and  had 
no  thought  or  attention  to  give  to  the  solitary 
schoolgirl. 

The  train  started  again,  and  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  later  she  was  on  the  platform  of  Holborn 
Viaduct  Station. 

She  had  written  to  Mrs.  Pederson  mention- 
ing the  hour  of  her  arrival,  and  it  had  been 
her  comfortable  conviction  that  she  would  find 
her  aunt  awaiting  her.  It  was  manifest  that 
she  had  over-estimated  Mrs.  Pederson's  eagerness 
to  see  her.  Porters  were  hurrying,  shouting, 
threatening  to  bear  down  upon  the  unwary 
with  trucks  piled  high  with  luggage ;  women 
with  harassed  faces  and  children  clinging  to 
their  skirts  wandered  about  aimlessly,  whilst 
news-boys  bawled  the  latest  intelligence  in 
untranslatable  Cockney.  There  was  no  one  on 
the  crowded  platform  whom  Hilary  could  by 
the  greatest  effort  of  the  imagination  mistake 
for  her  aunt. 

She  waited  a  few  minutes,  then  went  to 
claim  her  luggage,  directed  it  to  be  put  upon 
a  cab,  and  set  out  to  find  Markham  Square. 


14  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

This  could  scarcely  be  called  a  propitious 
opening  of  her  new  life,  and  it  was  fortunate 
that  she  was  not  one  of  those  whom  circum- 
stances easily  depress.  She  looked  out  of  the 
cab  window,  nevertheless,  with  a  sinking  heart. 
All  the  morning's  sunshine  had  been  left  behind 
in  Kent,  and  there  was  a  menace  of  rain  in 
the  grey,  sullen  sky  which  accorded  well,  she 
thought,  with  the  dinginess  of  the  streets  and 
the  tired,  absorbed  faces  of  the  passers-by. 

Her  spirits  rose  as  the  cab  turned  into 
Markham  Square.  It  was  dull  and  monotonous, 
but  there  was  an  air  of  comfort  and  respect- 
ability about  the  tall,  well-kept  houses.  Here 
and  there  a  brightly  painted  exterior  or  a 
freshly  filled  window  -  box  made  a  welcome 
splash  of  colour,  whilst,  in  the  square  garden, 
glimpses  of  lilac  and  laburnum  could  be  seen. 

"If  No.  10  has  window-boxes  I  shall  con- 
clude that  life  is  going  to  be  pleasant  there," 
11;  ary  sa;d  to  h-iso-.,  laughing.  "I  believe  in 
signs  and  tokens.' 

(Later,  she  came  reluctantly  to  acknowledge 
that,  under  Mrs.  Pederson's  administration,  even 
window-boxes  may  be  an  abomination  and  the 
caring  for  them  a  wearying  of  the  flesh.) 

Her  knock  brought  to  the  door  an  elderly 


FRANCES.  15 

maid,  who  regarded  her  with  stolid  but  quite 
friendly  curiosity. 

"My  mistress  is  out,  miss,  but  as  you  are 
expected  it  is  all  right,"  she  said  affably. 
"If  you  will  please  walk  into  the  drawing- 
room,  the  second  door  on  the  right,  I'll  help  the 
man  with  your  boxes." 

Hilary  followed  these  directions  and  found 
herself  in  a  large  room,  gaudily  papered,  and 
furnished  in  the  walnut  and  green  rep  style  of 
the  'sixties,  tastelessly  supplemented  with  imi- 
tation Chippendale  chairs  and  Japanese  fans. 
She  looked  about  her  with  undisguised  amuse- 
ment, and  then  became  suddenly  aware  that 
she  was  not  sole  monarch  of  all  she 
surveyed.  Her  right  was  disputed  by  a  rather 
untidy-looking  girl  who  was  standing  at  one 
of  the  windows,  staring  out  into  the  sooty 
square  of  garden  behind  the  house. 

At  the  sound  of  Hilary's  step  she  turned  and 
looked  at  her  with  a  long,  full  stare.  She 
was  a  small  and  very  thin  girl  of  four  or  five- 
and-twenty,  with  black  eyes  more  critical 
than  kindly.  There  was  an  expression  of 
strain  and  overwork  on  the  small  white  face, 
whilst  the  low  brow  with  its  disproportionate 
cranial  development  gave  her,  at  a  first  glance, 


1 6  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

the  appearance  of  a  precocious  child.  She  wore 
a  gown  of  some  dark  stiff  stuff  which  hung 
in  ungraceful  folds  about  her  thin  figure. 

"You  are  Hilary  Pederson,  of  course,"  she 
said  coolly ;  "  I  am  Frances  Kemsing.  Mother 
told  me  she  expected  you  to-day,  so  I  thought 
I  would  come  round.  I  knew  it  was  as 
likely  as  not  that  she  would  not  be  here  to 
receive  you.  She  is  a  law  unto  herself  in 
most  matters  where  other  people  are  governed 
by  convention." 

"  Indeed/'  murmured  Hilary,  somewhat  taken 
aback  by  this  odd  reception  and  no  less  by 
Miss  Kemsing's  announcement  of  their  relation- 
ship. Uncle  Gervase  had  not  thought  it 
worth  while  to  mention  that  in  marrying  he 
had  gained  a  daughter  as  well  as  a  wife. 
"  You  are  very  kind  to  be  here  to  meet  me." 

Miss  Kemsing  laughed  drily. 

"I  don't  suppose  I  should  have  come  if  I 
had  not  happened  to  have  a  free  afternoon.  I 
have  not  the  reputation  for  doing  odd  kind- 
nesses, I  assure  you.  As  we're  likely  to  see 
something  of  one  another,  I  may  as  well  tell 
you  that  I'm  a  medical  student  and  devoted 
heart  and  soul  to  my  work.  I  allow  nothing 
to  stand  in  the  way  of  my  work;  I  leave 


FRANCES.  iy 

the  little  acts  of  kindness,  little  deeds  of  love, 
to  those  who  have  nothing  else  to  do." 

Hilary  laughed.  "I'm  sure  you  make  your- 
self out  more  tiresome  than  you  really  are," 
she  said,  with  decision.  She  had  been  study- 
ing the  dark,  clever  face,  and  decided  that 
she  liked  it,  in  spite  of  its  expression  of  gloom 
and  acerbity. 

"Do  you  know,  Frances — I  may  call  you 
Frances,  may  I  not,  since  we  are  almost 
cousins  ? — I  did  not  know  of  your  existence 
until  this  afternoon." 

Frances  smiled.  "I  guessed  that  from  your 
mystified  air  when  I  introduced  myself.  I  am 
not  surprised  that  the  Major  did  not  mention 
my  existence.  I  was  the  thorn  in  his  cushion, 
and  he  only  compassed  repose  by  forgetting 
me  altogether.  He  disapproved  of  my  choice 
of  a  profession,  root  and  branch.  When  he 
and  mother  married  he  offered  me  a  home 
on  condition  that  I  gave  up  the  hospital 
altogether." 

Hilary  nodded.  "  He  seems  to  have  been 
fond  of  making  conditions." 

Frances  looked  at  her  sharply,  but  there  was 
nothing  but  good-tempered  interest  in  her  story 
on  the  frank,  sunny  face  of  her.  companion. 


1 8  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

"  It  did  not  take  me  long  to  decide  that  I 
could  not  give  up  all  I  had  been  working  for. 
Why,  I  would  rather  live  in  a  garret  than 
abjure  my  profession.  I've  roomed  with  another 
student  ever  since,  and  it  has  been  the  best 
thing  in  the  world  for  all  of  us." 

"  I  wish  you  lived  here,  though,"  Hilary  said 
warmly.  "It  was  jolly  to  find  that  I  had  a 
cousin,  but  you  will  not  be  much  use  if  you  are 
miles  away." 

Frances  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  clasped 
her  thin  fingers  behind  her  close-cropped  head. 

"You  will  see  enough  of  me,  I  daresay, 
though  I've  no  time  for  gossiping.  I  should 
not  be  here  now  if  someone  had  not  taken 
my  part  and  left  me  to  hang  about  without 
anything  to  go  on  with." 

Hilary  was  wondering  what  a  "part"  was 
and  framing  a  question  when  the  door  opened 
and  Mrs.  Pederson  swept  in  like  a  whirlwind. 

"My  dear  Hilary,  to  think  you  should 
arrive  in  this  way  without  kiss  or  welcome  1 " 

She  bore  breathlessly  down  upon  the  girl 
and  folded  her  in  the  embrace  of  two  bony 
arms,  while  her  eyes  wandered  across  the  room 
to  its  other  occupant. 

"You    here,    Frances!     I'm   sure    I    ought 


FRANCES.  19 

to  be  flattered  by  such  an  unusual  show  of 
attention." 

"No  doubt  you  are,  my  dear  mother," 
Frances  responded  coolly.  "You  certainly  owe 
me  some  thanks  for  taking  your  place  this 
afternoon  and  doing  my  small  best  to  make 
up  for  your  absence.  It  looked  a  little  unkind 
to  Hilary  to  let  her  come  'without  kiss  or 
welcome,'  as  you  put  it." 

"  I  don't  need  you  to  teach  me  what  I 
should  do  or  leave  undone,"  Mrs.  Pederson 
retorted  tartly,  as  she  sank  into  a  chair,  tossed 
her  little  sailor  hat  upon  another,  and  threw 
open  her  smart  fawn  coat.  "You  might  have 
had  sense  to  order  some  tea." 

She  rang  the  bell  with  a  jerk  which  filled 
the  house  with  discordant  clangour. 

Hilary,  during  these  amenities,  sat  silently 
studying  her  hostess,  divided  between  mirth 
and  dismay.  She  had  never  before  met  anyone 
the  least  like  her,  and  mentally  compared  her 
with  dear  old  Madame  Brun,  who  had  so 
beautifully  mastered  the  art  of  growing  old 
gracefully. 

Mrs.  Pederson  was  a  thin,  fashionably 
attired  woman  of  sixty  or  so,  with  an  expres- 
sion partly  of  ill-health  and  partly  of  discontent 


2O  MRS.  PEDERSON' s  NIECE 

on  her  pinched,  colourless  face.  Her  grey  hair 
was  curled  stiffly  back  from  her  forehead  in  a 
fashion  which  reminded  Hilary  of  nothing  so 
much  as  a  corrugated  iron  fence.  It  was  said 
that  Mrs.  Pederson  had  been  a  beauty  in  her 
youth,  and  there  were  some  who  believed  the 
rumour.  Mrs.  Pederson  did  so  herself,  and 
dressed  to  suit  the  part  in  bold  defiance  of 
the  ravages  of  time. 

In  spite  of  her  failure  in  the  matter  of  a 
welcome,  she  was  frankly  pleased  to  see  her 
niece,  and  her  questions  concerning  her  journey 
and  the  schooldays  which  lay  behind  it  were 
kind  and  well-meant.  They  chatted  over  the 
tea-table  until  Frances  began  to  make  ready  to 
depart,  and  then  Mrs.  Pederson  rang  for  a  maid 
to  take  Hilary  to  the  room  prepared  for  her. 

"You  mustn't  go  till  you  tell  me  what  you 
think  of  her,  Frances,"  she  said,  as  soon  as 
they  were  alone.  Though  there  was  not 
much  warmth  in  her  affection  for  her  daughter, 
she  relied  a  good  deal  on  her  judgment. 
"  Do  you  think  I  shall  get  on  with  her  ? 
She  seems  nice,  and  quite  a  child  in  spite 
of  her  age." 

Frances  stared  into  the  gaily  decorated 
grate  as  she  answered : 


FRANCES.  21 

"  I  wish  she  had  not  come,  though  you 
will  like  her  well  enough.  She  is  not  our 
sort,  mother — a  cut  above  us,  just  as  the  Major 
was." 

Mrs.  Pederson  reddened  and  tossed  her  head. 
She  was  one  of  those  who  resent  superiority 
in  an  acquaintance  and  regard  it  as  an  insult 
in  a  relative. 

"The  Pedersons  have  always  been  as  poor  as 
church  mice/'  she  said  crossly.  "The  Kemsings 
could  have  bought  them  up  any  time  these 
twenty  years.  This  girl  has  only  her  ninety 
pounds  a  year,  whilst  you  and  I,  my  good 
Frances,  may  call  ourselves  fairly  well-off." 

Frances  straightened  her  hat  before  the 
glass,  and  her  lip  curled  disagreeably. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  no  use  me  telling  you 
once  again,  my  dear  mother,  that  money  is 
not  everything.  There  are  a  few  things  it 
cannot  buy,  things  that  are  as  natural  as  the 
air  we  breathe  to  Hilary  and  the  Major. 
There  are  some  of  your  visitors,  too,  whom 
she  might  not  care  to  meet." 

Mrs.  Pederson's  thin  face  flushed  with  anger 
and  her  ringers  worked  nervously. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Frances. 
You  were  always  a  disrespectful  child." 


22  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

Frances  looked  at  her  with  a  softening  of 
her  dark  eyes.  After  all,  it  was  never  any 
use  arguing  with  her  mother,  and  it  widened 
the  breach  which,  in  her  better  moments,  the 
girl  honestly  regretted. 

"Poor  dear  mother,  I  always  rub  you  up 
the  wrong  way,"  she  said,  with  a  laugh. 
"Perhaps  you'll  get  more  satisfaction  out  of 
Hilary.  If  you'll  let  her,  I'm  sure  she  will 
love  you.  She  is  simply  overflowing  with  good- 
will." 

Yet  as  she  walked  back  to  her  rooms  in 
Skone  Street,  Frances  wished  heartily  that  it 
had  not  occurred  to  her  stepfather  to  stipulate 
for  Hilary's  presence  in  Markham  Square. 

"It  came  of  his  disapproval  of  me,"  she 
said  shrewdly.  "He  wouldn't  have  the  mater 
left  to  her  own  resources  entirely.  He  was 
afraid  that  if  she  got  lonely  she  would  be 
driven  to  commandeer  me.  Poor,  dear  mother! 
she  won't  have  anything  to  complain  of  in 
the  substitute  he  has  provided  if  one  may 
judge  from  first  impressions." 


CHAPTER    III. 

COBWEBS. 

"MY  dear  Hilary,  do  you  remember  that  it  is 
exactly  three  months  since  you  came  to  be  my 
dear  little  daughter  ? "  Mrs.  Pederson  always 
ignored  the  manifest  fact  that  her  niece  was 
nearly  a  head  taller  than  herself.  "  Three  happy 
months  I  I  never  dreamed  that  we  should  get 
on  so  admirably  together."  She  smiled  ex- 
pansively and  looked  at  her  companion  with 
her  head  drooped  languishingly  on  one  side. 

They  were  seated  at  luncheon  in  the 
commonplace  dining-room,  which  always  seemed 
to  Hilary  the  ugliest  and  dullest  room 
imaginable. 

"I  had  awful  visions,  you  know,"  Mrs. 
Pederson  went  on  gaily,  "visions  of  a  blowsy 
schoolgirl,  with  red  cheeks  and  aggressive 
manners,  who  would  be  always  in  the  way. 
It  was  such  a  relief  to  find  we  did  not  interfere 
with  each  other's  pleasure  in  the  least,  but  got 
on  perfectly." 

Hilary    smiled    inscrutably.    She    had   soon 


24  MRS.  PEDERSON' s  NIECE. 

discovered  that  "  getting  on "  with  Mrs, 
Pederson  meant  following  her  lead  unquestion- 
ingly,  and  having  no  private  ends  at  all  to 
serve. 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  glad  you  are  pleased  with 
me,  Aunt  Sophie,"  she  replied  good-temperedly. 
"  It  would  have  been  distinctly  unpleasant  if  I 
had  not  happened  to  suit  you." 

Mrs.  Pederson  laughed.  "How  outspoken 
you  are,  child !  But  there's  nothing  I  admire 
more  than  perfect  openness.  I  always  spit 
out  just  what  I  feel  myself  and  never  think 
another  word  about  it.  I  remember  so  well 
what  my  poor  old  father  used  to  say — he  was 
a  Thames  pilot,  you  know,  in  the  days 
when  fortunes  were  made  on  the  river :  '  Sophie, 
mind  this,  if  there's  to  be  peace  in  a  house, 
there  must  be  no  secrets  and  perfect  oneness 
of  mind.'  I've  thought  of  his  words  many  a 
time,  but  I  never  could  get  Pederson  to  see 
the  truth  of  them.  Your  uncle  Gervase  was  an 
awful  man  for  having  his  own  way." 

Hilary  bent  over  her  plate  to  hide  the 
merriment  in  her  blue  eyes.  Under  Mrs. 
Pederson's  roof  there  must  be  only  one  mind 
and  that  her  own.  If  the  late  Major  were 
fond  of  his  own  way  there  was  little  wonder 


COBWEBS.  25 

that  life  had  not  run  very  smoothly  at  No.  10. 
It  was  not  that  Mrs.  Pederson  meant  to  be 
tyrannical,  but  she  laboured  under  a  constitu- 
tional disability  to  see  any  aspect  of  a  question 
except  her  own. 

If  Hilary  had  come  to  Markham  Square 
with  any  ideas  of  finding  life  there  wider  and 
more  full  of  change  than  that  she  had  spent 
under  Madame  Brim's  roof,  she  was  woefully 
mistaken.  Every  moment  was  occupied,  but 
there  was  a  lamentable  monotony  in  the 
manner  of  filling  them.  Mrs.  Pederson 
monopolised  her  throughout  the  day  whilst 
protesting  that  she  desired  to  leave  her  entirely 
free  to  please  herself.  From  the  morning  hour 
when,  breakfast  over,  she  drew  an  armchair  to 
the  window  and  sat  down  to  absorb  the 
contents  of  the  newspaper,  she  claimed  the 
girl's  undivided  attention  and  resented  any 
diminution  of  her  interest  in  the  discussion 
of  the  day's  doings. 

Mrs.  Pederson  was  one  of  those  who  like 
to  put  each  hour,  as  it  were,  in  a  frame,  and 
her  arrangements,  like  the  laws  of  the  Medes 
and  Persians,  were  irrefragable.  Not  until  she 
went  away  on  household  cares  intent  could 
Hilary  feel  at  liberty  to  take  up  her  book  or 


26  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

open  her  letters.  Even  then  she  was  subject  to 
little  tempestuous  visits,  for  Aunt  Sophie  had 
no  idea  of  enjoying  a  surprise  or  enduring  a 
wrong  at  the  hands  of  her  staff  without  sharing 
it  with  every  member  of  the  household. 

At  No.  10,  Markham  Square,  the  perfection 
of  cleanliness  and  order  was  only  achieved  by 
an  enormous  expenditure  of  noise  and  confusion. 
The  cook,  housemaids,  and  the  invaluable 
Mantle  were  marshalled  hither  and  thither  at 
Mrs.  Pederson's  command,  and  her  voice  could 
be  continually  heard,  chanticleering  orders  from 
distant  parts  of  the  house. 

Hilary  declared  that  it  was  fatiguing  to 
follow,  even  in  thought,  the  race-course  of 
Aunt  Sophie's  day.  She  was  one  of  those 
tirelessly  busy  people  whose  energy  does  not 
require  a  serious  object.  To  the  smallest  detail 
she  gave  the  heated  discussion  and  the  concen- 
tration of  attention  which  most  people  reserve 
for  epoch-making  crises. 

Those  who  knew  the  late  Major  Pederson 
wondered  sometimes  what  could  have  induced 
him  to  marry  a  woman  so  oddly  different 
from  the  women  of  his  own  class,  and  a  few 
whispered  that  her  substantial  fortune  had  been 
a  temptation.  The  Major  had  always  been  an 


COBWEBS.  27 

extravagant  and  self-indulgent  man,  and  half-pay 
leaves  little  margin  for  luxuries.  His  reward 
had  been  in  excess  of  that  usually  accorded  to 
those  who  marry  for  mean  motives.  In  spite  of 
her  eccentricities,  Mrs.  Pederson  made  him  a 
devoted  and  admiring  wife.  There  was  no 
denying  her  goodness  of  heart  even  when  her 
manners  left  most  to  be  desired. 

She  looked  up  from  the  newspaper  which 
always  lay  beside  her  plate  when  Hilary  rose 
from  the  table. 

"  Are  you  going  already,  my  dear  ?  I  was 
about  to  tell  you  of  Eliza's  rudeness  to  me  this 

morning.  Her  conduct  was  such Well, 

there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  give  her  notice." 

Hilary  shook  her  head.  "I  really  can't  stay 
now,  Aunt  .Sophie,  so  please  let  the  tale  of 
Eliza's  enormities  wait.  You  remember  I 
promised  to  go  round  to  Frances'  lodgings  at 
two  o'clock.  She  has  an  afternoon  free,  and 
we  are  going  somewhere  together." 

Mrs.  Pederson's  smile  vanished,  and  she 
tossed  her  head  crossly.  The  friendship  which 
had  sprung  up  between  the  two  girls  had  not 
the  seal  of  her  approval.  It  threatened  to  limit 
her  own  share  of  Hilary's  society,  and  though 
she  could  be  generous  on  a  large  scale,  in 


28  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

small  matters  she  was  essentially  mean.  She 
said  to  herself  that  it  was  solely  on  Hilary's 
account  she  objected  to  the  intimacy.  Frances 
had  always  been  opinionated  and  unmanage- 
able. She  had  never,  even  as  a  child,  shown 
proper  respect  to  her  elders,  and  she  would  try 
to  imbue  Hilary  with  her  wild  independent 
notions. 

"This  is  the  third  time  in  a  fortnight  you 
have  spent  half  the  day  with  Frances, 
Hilary,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  which  was  itself  an 
impeachment.  "You  see  more  in  Frances  than 
most  people  do,  I  must  say.  I'm  glad,  poor 
girl,  that  somebody  finds  her  amiable.  She 
can't  have  many  friends  with  her  bad  temper. 
But  don't  forget,  my  dear,  that  your  uncle 
desired  you  to  be  my  companion,  not  Frances'. 
I  have  always  the  first  claim." 

Hilary  nodded,  and  a  little  smile  curved  her 
mouth.  She  was  used  to  Aunt  Sophie's  protests 
now  and  they  did  not  ruffle  her  in  the  least. 

"I'll  send  a  note  to  Frances  and  ask  her  to 
come  here,  if  you  really  want  me,  dear,"  she  said 
good-temperedly.  "  I  thought  you  overheard 
me  make  the  arrangement  with  Frances." 

"  No,  you  can  go ;  I  don't  want  to  be  a 
check  on  your  pleasures,"  Mrs.  Pederson  replied, 


COBWEBS.  29 

with  a  resigned  droop  of  the  corners  of  her 
mouth.  "Only  don't  forget  that  I  have  the 
first  claim  on  you." 

She  made  the  protest  merely  in  accordance 
with  her  fixed  idea  that  Hilary  would  be  only 
too  ready  to  deny  her  claims  and  that  it  was 
well  to  keep  them  before  her  mind.  She  was 
secretly  glad  to  be  free  from  the  girl's  company 
for  a  few  hours,  for  she  expected  a  visitor 
whom  she  was  by  no  means  anxious  to 
introduce  to  her  niece. 

Frances  Kemsing  lived  in  a  rather  dingy 
street  off  the  Tottenham  Court  Road.  The 
house  was  half-way  down,  on  the  shady  side, 
and  distinguished  from  its  neighbours  by  a  row 
of  blue  flower-pots  in  ;  which  a  few  pink  ivy- 
geraniums  had  a  precarious  existence.  This 
attempt  at  decoration  was  not  to  be  attributed 
to  Frances.  To  everything  which  did  not  bear 
upon  her  work  she  was  absolutely  indifferent, 
but  she  submitted  to  any  amenities  projected  by 
her  companion,  Ursula  Grantham. 

It  was  wholly  due,  also,  to  Miss  Grantham's 
efforts  that  the  front  parlour  which  Hilary 
entered,  a  few  minutes  later,  was  picturesque 
and  exquisitely  neat.  Frances  would  have 
worked  comfortably  in  chaos,  but  Ursula  loved 


3O  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

to  have  everything  about  her  as  beautiful  and 
orderly  as  herself. 

"Besides,  we  owe  it  to  the  profession  to 
look  nice  and  have  nice  surroundings,"  she 
would  tell  Frances  decisively.  "  If  we  live 
in  a  muddle  and  look  like  a  rag-bag  we  can't 
expect  men  to  imagine  that  it  improves  things 
generally  for  us  to  take  up  professions.  When 
they  begin  to  talk  of  the  women  of  other  days 
and  to  praise  their  domestic  virtues,  I  know 
they  have  been  studying  such  girls  as  May 
Limpfield  or  Anne  Meadows,  who  seem  to 
imagine  there  is  some  special  grace  in  wearing 
ugly,  ill-made  gowns  and  leaving  their  hair 
unbrushed.  You  may  think  yourself  fortunate, 
Frances  Kemsing,  that  you  have  me  to  look 
after  you." 

Frances  was  bending  over  a  large,  workman- 
like table  in  the  window  when  Hilary  came  in. 

"Here  I  am,  Frances,  having  braved  Aunt 
Sophie's  displeasure  to  reach  you,"  she  cried, 
stooping  over  her  cousin  to  kiss  her.  "  It  is  such 
a  lovely  afternoon  that  we  ought  not  to  waste 
a  moment  of  it  indoors." 

"My  good  child,  there's  a  time  for  em- 
bracing and  a  time  to  refrain  from  embracing. 
It  is  the  time  for  refraining,  though  I  can't 


COBWEBS.  31 

expect  you  to  see  it,"  said  Frances,  coolly 
disengaging  herself  from  Hilary's  encircling 
arms.  "  I've  been  two  solid  hours  arranging  this 
dissection,  and  I  don't  want  it  upset,  if  you 
please.  Just  sit  down  somewhere  out  of  the 
way  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  I  will  talk 
to  you." 

Hilary  sat  down  in  a  well-cushioned  armchair 
which  manifestly  belonged  to  the  luxurious 
Ursula,  and  settled  herself  to  wait  with 
patience  Frances'  pleasure. 

In  ten  minutes  the  student  pushed  back  her 
chair  and  stretched  her  arms  out  with  a  tired 
gesture. 

"  It's  going  to  be  a  beautiful  dissection. 
These  bits  of  minute  work  are  awfully  fascin- 
ating," she  said.  "I've  got  to  a  splendidly 
interesting  point  Another  hour's  work  will  see 
it  finished." 

Hilary  lifted  her  eyebrows. 

"  My  dear  Frances,  have  you  forgotten  that 
you  promised  to  go  out  with  me  ?  We've 
tickets  for  that  flower  show  on  the  Embank- 
ment." 

Frances  ran  her  ringers    through    her   short 

dark  hair  and    frowned.     "Oh,    that's    out    of 

question    to-day,    Hilary.     I'm    sorry,    but 


32  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

I  should  not  feel  happy  to  leave  my  work  at 
this  stage.  I  should  be  thinking  of  my  dis- 
section all  the  time  and  worrying  to  get  back 
to  it." 

"I'm  sure  you  would  lose  nothing  by  taking 
an  afternoon's  rest,  Francie,"  Hilary  replied. 
"You  work  too  hard.  Ursula  Grantham  often 
says  that  to  work  without  any  rest  or  recrea- 
tion is  the  way  to  court  failure." 

Frances  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Oh,  don't  quote  Ursula  to  me,  I  have  her 
at  first  hand  morning,  noon,  and  night ! "  she 
exclaimed  sharply.  "  You  must  not  go  by  what 
she  says.  She  has  ridiculous  luck  herself  in 
exams.  She  will  dance  through  the  finals  with 
one  half  the  work  we  others  have  to  give. 
By  the  way,  Hilary,  if  you  want  an  outing,  you 
might  go  into  Lambeth  with  her  this  after- 
noon. I'm  sure  she  will  be  glad  of  your 
company,  and  then  the  thought  of  having  spoilt 
your  afternoon  will  be  off  my  mind.  Here 
she  comes,  all  ready  to  start.  Nuttie,  I  want 
you  to  take  Hilary  with  you.  I  promised  to 
go  with  her  to  a  flower  show,  but  at  the  point 
of  departure  I  am  too  busy." 

"That's  your  way,  and  a  very  bad  way  it 
is,  Francie,"  said  the  newcomer,  smiling.  She 


COBWEBS.  33 

was  a  tall  girl,  fair-haired,  with  a  calm,  strong 
face  which  showed  none  of  the  strain  and  the 
eager  unrest  which  was  in  Frances'.  She 
might  have  been  the  model  for  Werther's 
Charlotte  of  bread-and-butter-cutting  fame,  though 
she  had  taken  her  Tripos  at  Cambridge  and 
ranked  among  the  most  brilliant  students  of 
her  hospital.  Hilary  admired  her  greatly.  If 
Frances  had  been  her  sole  example  of  the 
student  and  the  hard  worker  she  might  have 
been  inclined  to  agree  with  Mrs.  Pederson 
that  such  careers  were  a  mistake  for  girls, 
but  Ursula  Grantham  forever  reversed  such 
opinions.  You  could  not  imagine  a  sick- 
room or  a  scene  of  misery  which  would  not 
be  the  brighter  and  better  for  beautiful,  serene 
Ursula  Grantham's  presence. 

Hilary  was  not  surprised  to  find  that 
Miss  Grantham's  errand  this  afternoon  was  one 
of  charity.  She  had  promised  to  find  out 
the  friends  of  a  girl  who  had  been  brought 
into  the  hospital  a  few  days  before  and  to  make 
them  acquainted  with  the  patient's  progress. 
It  was  like  Ursula  to  allow  such  a  mission  to 
dip  into  her  scanty  leisure,  and  Frances  had 
not  scrupled  to  call  her  a  fool  for  her  pains. 


CHAPTER    IV. 
MRS.  PEDERSON'S  VISITOR. 

URSULA  GRANTHAM'S  destination  was  a  cer- 
tain street  not  far  from  the  Westminster 
Bridge  Road,  a  squalid,  irregularly  built  street, 
where  a  public-house  at  one  corner  and  a 
fried  fish  shop  at  another  vied  with  one  another 
in  odorising  the  air.  The  pavement  swarmed 
with  children,  and  at  the  doors  dirty,  unkempt 
women  suspended  their  gossip  to  stare  at  the 
two  girls. 

It  was  evident  that  Ursula  was  no  stranger 
in  Cross  Street.  Three  or  four  women  wished  her 
a  "good  afternoon"  and  she  readily  obtained 
what  information  she  required  to  find  Maude 
Flitter's  home. 

The  name  "Flitter"  appeared  in  faded 
letters  over  a  second-hand  clothes  shop  some 
way  down  the  street,  and,  bidding  Hilary  wait 
outside  for  her,  Ursula  dived  into  its  gloomy 
recesses. 

She  reappeared  presently,  followed  by  a 
red-faced  woman,  who  was  talking  volubly  and 


MRS.  PEDERSON'S  VISITOR.  35 

darning  at  the  same  time  a  much-worn  coat. 
Ursula  looked  vexed  and  hot,  and,  after  a 
little  more  talk  with  the  woman,  said  "good 
afternoon  "  and  joined  Hilary. 

"You  don't  look  as  though  the  interview 
had  been  a  pleasant  one,  Ursula,"  Hilary  said 
as  they  turned  homeward. 

Ursula  shook  her  head.  "It  appears  that 
Maude  went  to  the  hospital  against  her  mother's 
wish.  Mrs.  Flitter  has  a  rooted  belief  that 
hospitals  are  repositories  where  we  kill  off  the 
patients  in  the  shortest  possible  time  for  our 
own  ends.  She  wants  Maude  home,  though  I 
assured  her  that  the  girl  is  doing  splendidly. 
I  made  a  point  of  asking  the  ward  sister  to-day 
that  I  might  give  the  latest  news.  Of  course, 
we  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  patients  our- 
selves, though  I  go  and  chat  with  several  of 
them  when  I  have  a  few  minutes  to  spare. 
It  is  one  of  the  forms  of  recreation  I  indulge 
in,  you  know,  when  I  get  fagged  with  the 
work. 

"  It  is  more  than  that,  Ursula,"  Hilary  re- 
plied quietly.  "Who  is  it  says  that  our  recrea- 
tions, not  our  labours,  are  the  index  to  our 
characters  ?  Somehow,"  she  added,  laughing, 
"  I  can  fancy  you  a  nurse,  or  a  Sister  of  the 


36  MRS.  PEDEKSON'S  NIECE. 

Poor,  or  a  deaconess  of  some  kind ;  but  to 
imagine  you  a  doctor,  sitting  in  a  luxurious 
consulting-room,  waiting  for  patients,  seems 
ridiculous." 

Ursula  joined  in  the  laugh.  "Well  it  may, 
indeed.  I  could  not  fancy  myself  in  that 
position  at  all.  No,  Hilary,  I  have  my  ambitions, 
but  they  do  not  run  in  that  direction." 

"Why,  I  thought  you  and  Frances  thought 
of  nothing  else  but  passing  the  exams,  and 
taking  your  degrees,"  Hilary  said. 

Ursula  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  few 
minutes. 

"I  love  my  work,  and,  of  course,  I  care 
immensely  about  passing  the  finals  well;  but 
they  are  the  steps  to  a  very  different  end  to 
that  you  picture,"  she  said  quietly.  "Some  day 
I  mean  to  practise  down  in  these  mean  streets, 
to  use  my  skill  and  knowledge  for  the  benefit  of 
these  poor  people,  who  are  so  ignorant  that  they 
will  seldom  come  to  us  at  the  hospital  until  they 
are  past  remedies.  Some  of  them  are  actually 
afraid  of  us.  You  cannot  imagine  what  stories 
I  have  heard  from  them.  They  think  we  want 
their  poor,  shrunken,  emaciated  bodies  for  our 
dissections,  and  that,  once  in  our  clutches,  we 
shall  never  let  them  go  again  with  their  full 


MRS.  PEDERSON'S  VISITOR.  37 

number  of  limbs.  When  I  get  through,  I  shall 
come  and  live  down  here  and  teach  them  to 
think  differently.  Besides,  it  is  not  always 
mere  medicine  they  want.  They  often  need 
what  only  we  girls  can  give  them — love,  sym- 
pathy, and  a  gleam  of  hope  for  the  future. 
The  'doctor'  ought  to  mean  more  to  these 
poor  creatures  than  it  does  to  people  in 
•  happier  circumstances." 

Ursula  spoke  rapidly,  and  there  was  amoved 
expression  on  her  usually  calm  face. 

Hilary  pressed  her  arm  as  it  lay  within  her 
own.  She  was  always  quick  to  appreciate  the 
generous  and  true-hearted  in  others,  and  she 
gave  her  companion  the  meed  of  her  girlish 
admiration  without  stint. 

"  No  wonder  you  are  so  lucky  in  exams.," 
she  said  warmly.  "You  couldn't  fail  with  such 
a  motive." 

Ursula  nodded  thoughtfully.  "Yes,  I  have 
felt  that  sometimes  myself,"  she  said  simply; 
"I  am  helped  so  that  I  do  not  get  worried 
and  nervous  as  some  of  the  girls  do.  The 
work  does  not  hurt  one  much  if  one  can  take 
it  quietly."  She  stopped  abruptly,  and  Hilary 
knew  she  was  thinking  of  Frances,  who  mini- 
mised her  own  chances  of  success  by  the  feverish 


38  MRS.  P ED ER SON'S  NIECE. 

eagerness  with  which  she  worked  and  the 
relentlessness  of  her  study. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Hilary 
got  back  to  Markham  Square.  She  expected  to 
find  Aunt  Sophie  in  no  very  pleasant  humour, 
for  if  there  was  one  thing  that  lady  disliked 
more  than  another,  it  was  to  be  kept  waiting 
for  her  tea.  Looking  at  her  watch,  Hilary  saw 
that  it  must  already  be  carried  to  the  library, 
where  Mrs.  Pederson  elected  to  drink  it  during 
the  hot  days. 

"I  wish  I  could  have  persuaded  Ursula  to 
come  back  with  me,"  she  said  to  herself, 
thinking  of  the  long  evening  tete-a-tgte  with 
Mrs.  Pederson  which  lay  before  her.  She 
knew  exactly  how  it  would  be  spent,  and 
laughed  a  little  in  amused  self-pity.  What 
would  Madame  or  her  girls  think  if  they 
could  see  their  favourite  consuming  hour  after 
hour  in  dominoes,  beggar-my-neighbour,  or  spill- 
kins,  games  which  she  cordially  hated  ? 

Mrs.  Pederson's  sole  idea  01  amusement 
was  to  play  games  of  a  more  or  less  exciting 
kind  and  she  threw  herself  into  them  with 
ardour.  Over  the  most  trivial  game  she  became 
another  creature ;  her  very  features  seemed  to 
sharpen  with  uncanny  interest ;  her  eyes  glittered, 


MRS.  PEDERSON'S  VISITOR.  39 

and  discordant  shrieks  of  glee  or  dismay  marked 
her  success  or  failure. 

Hilary  was  but  a  few  paces  from  No.  10 
when  the  door  opened  and  a  young  man  came 
down  the  steps.  The  girl  glanced  at  him 
curiously,  though  she  had  long  ago  discovered 
that  Mrs.  Pederson  received  visitors  who  could 
scarcely  belong  to  her  own  world,  and  whose 
presence  she  explained  vaguely  to  her  niece  as" 
"  business." 

He  was  a  short,  clean-shaven  man,  showily 
dressed  in  a  snuff-coloured  check  suit  and  a 
brilliant  tie  confined  in  a  heavy  gold  ring.  He 
stared  at  Hilary  with  admiration  in  his  beady 
brown  eyes  as  she  passed  him,  and  turned  to 
stare  again,  whistling  softly,  as  she  went  up  the 
steps  he  had  just  descended. 

"  What  an  odious  man  1 "  Hilary  said  to  her- 
self, as  she  opened  the  door  with  her  latchkey. 
"  What  can  have  been  his  business  with  Aunt 
Sophie?" 

She  went  quickly  across  the  hall  and  opened 
the  door  of  the  library.  On  the  threshold  she 
paused  abruptly  and  caught  her  breath  in 
surprise. 

The  setting  sun  illumined  the  room  and 
showed  Mrs.  Pederson  crouched  on  the  hearth- 


4O  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

rug,  swaying  to  and  fro  in  a  storm  of  petulant 
sobs,  while  she  called  on  powers  visible  and 
invisible  to  witness  that  she  was  a  cheated  and 
ruined  woman. 

"  Dear  Aunt  Sophie,  what  is  the  matter  ? 
Who  has  been  injuring  you  ? "  Hilary  cried, 
running  across  the  room  and  kneeling  down 
beside  this  victim  of  outrageous  fortune.  "Has 
that  odious  man  been  insulting  you  ?  He 
looked  capable  of  it ! " 

Mrs.  Pederson  sprang  to  her  feet  with  an 
agility  remarkable  considering  her  age. 

"  How  you  startled  me,  Hilary !  I  had  no 
idea  you  were  in  the  house ! "  she  exclaimed 
angrily.  "  And  what  are  you  talking  about  ? 
If  it  is  Chivers  Smith  you  are  calling  '  odious,' 
let  me  tell  you  that  is  my  man  of  business 
and  my  very  good  friend,  and  I  expect  him  to 
be  treated  with  respect  when  he  comes  to  my 
house.  I  hope  to  goodness  you  have  not  been 
treating  him  to  any  of  your  high  and  mighty 
airs."  There  was  a  shade  of  anxiety  under 
the  coarse  petulance  of  the  excited  woman's 
tone. 

Hilary  leaned  against  the  corner  of  the 
table  and  looked  at  her  aunt  with  a  rising 
colour. 


MRS.  PEDERSON'S  VISITOR.  41 

"Do  you  mean  a  vulgar  little  man  with  a 
horsey  air  and  diabolically  dressed,  whom  I 
saw  leave  the  house  just  a  few  minutes  ago  ? " 
she  asked  coldly.  "I  hope  I  am  never  rude 
to  anyone,  and  as  I  had  no  opportunity  nor 
desire  to  speak  to  him,  he  cannot  resent  any- 
thing I  have  said." 

Mrs.  Pederson  looked  at  her  for  a  moment 
in  speechless  exasperation ;  when  Hilary  spoke 
in  that  tone,  "just  the  Major's  tone,"  she 
always  felt  herself  hopelessly  at  a  disadvantage. 
Then  she  dropped  into  a  chair  and  began  to 
sob  with  childish  abandon.  There  was  nothing 
pathetic  about  poor  Mrs.  Pederson's  woe.  Her 
cast  of  countenance  was  not  fashioned  for 
tears,  and  Hilary,  despite  her  ruffled  feelings, 
struggled  for  a  moment  with  emotions  sadly 
out  of  harmony  with  the  Scriptural  injunction 
to  weep  with  those  that  weep. 

She  came  nearer  and  put  her  arm  round  her 
aunt's  thin  shoulders. 

"Do  tell  me  what  troubles  you,  Aunt 
Sophie,"  she  begged,  touched  by  a  grief  which 
must  surely  be  great  though  she  was  entirely 
ignorant  of  its  cause.  "You  surely  don't  mean 
me  to  conclude  that  little  monster  has  the 
power  to  move  you  like  this  ?  " 


42  MRS.  PEDERSON' s  NIECE. 

There  was  a  faint  diminution  of  the  petulant 
sobs,  and  Hilary  went  on  coaxingly. 

"  Of  course,  I  may  not  be  able  to  help  you 
in  the  least,  but  it  generally  makes  things 
easier  to  bear  when  someone  shares  the  burden. 
I  have  felt  ever  since  I  came  that  you  had 
some  hidden  worries." 

Mrs.  Pederson  looked  into  the  girlish 
face  bent  to  hers  hesitatingly,  then  she 
wrenched  herself  impatiently  from  the  en- 
circling arm. 

"  What  nonsense  you  are  talking,  Hilary  ! 
You  are  like  the  Major,  always  making  moun- 
tains out  of  molehills.  What  worries  should  I 
have,  pray,  beyond  the  wear  and  tear  of 
managing  the  house  and  my  money  matters, 
though  you  are  enough,  I  am  sure,  to  drive 
one  to  the  verge  of  insanity.  I  have  got  one 
of  my  neuralgic  attacks,  and  talking  to  Chivers 
Smith  has  made  it  unbearable." 

Hilary  moved  away  to  the  window,  her 
head  held  high  and  a  hard  look  in  her  blue 
eyes.  She  was  not  used  to  having  her  sympathy 
thrust  aside  as  superfluous,  and  she  knew  Mrs. 
Pederson  was  not  honest  with  her.  With 
the  haste  of  youth  she  concluded  that  the 
falsehood  hid  something  discreditable,  and  she 


.  PEDERSON'S  VISITOR.  43 

told  herself  that  she  wished  to  know  nothing 
about  it. 

She  stood  looking  across  at  the  tall  grey 
houses  on  the  other  side  of  the  square,  feeling 
her  spirit  in  revolt  against  the  narrowness  and 
the  vague  entanglements  of  the  life  she  had 
now  to  live,  full  of  longing  for  the  old  quiet, 
sunny  life,  in  which  the  searchlight  of  truth 
could  find  nothing  to  bring  a  blush  to  the 
cheek. 

Mrs.  Pederson's  metallic  voice  broke  the 
uncomfortable  silence. 

"  I  don't  want  your  pity  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  but  perhaps  you  will  not  mind  taking 
the  trouble  to  tell  Mantle  that  I'll  have  some 
tea  in  my  own  room,"  she  said.  "This  is  too 
cold  to  drink  now  and  the  muffins  are  like 
leather.  Tell  her  she  may  toast  me  two  more, 
and  I  shan't  come  down  to  dinner.  I  daresay 
you  can  manage  to  amuse  yourself." 

Hilary  assented  gravely. 

"  I'll  tell  Mantle  what  you  say,"  she  replied, 
without  looking  round. 

At  the  door  Mrs.  Pederson  stopped  and  stood 
for  a  minute  fingering  the  door-plate. 

"When  you  see  Frances,  Hilary,  you  need 
not  tell  her  that  Olivers  Smith  called,"  she 


44  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

said  sharply.  "I  know  you  girls  exchange  all 
sorts  of  confidences." 

"No,  I  won't  mention  it,"  Hilary  said,  still 
without  turning  her  head. 

Mrs.  Pederson  looked  at  her  curiously  and 
then  went  out,  banging  the  door  noisily  behind 
her. 

Hilary  stood  for  a  long  time  looking 
into  the  quiet  square  in  which  the  twilight 
was  gathering.  In  one  window  after  another 
of  the  houses  opposite  sprang  a  yellow  spark 
of  gaslight,  and  the  lamplighter  on  the  pave- 
ment was  running  from  post  to  post  with  his 
long  rod.  The  girl  watched  him  with  unseeing 
eyes,  busy  with  her  own  thoughts. 

Three  months  1  It  seemed  like  as  many 
years  since  she  left  Paris.  She  had  wondered 
then  how  she  should  adapt  herself  to  her 
altered  circumstances.  She  found  it  no  question 
of  adaptation.  She  moved  on  another  plane 
altogether,  a  plane  where  "the  comely 
fashion  to  be  glad,"  which  had  hitherto  been 
the  rule  of  her  life,  was  surprisingly  difficult 
to  follow. 

The  air  seemed  full  of  sordid  little  cares,  of 
mysteries  and  uncertainties  of  which  she  was 
vaguely  conscious  without  being  able  to  define 


MRS.  PEDERSON' s  VISITOR.  45 

them.  They  clung  about  her  like  cobwebs, 
and  she  could  not  get  free  from  their  stifling 
influence. 

The  business-like  documents  which  came  so 
often,  and  which  Mrs.  Pederson  read  with  such 
feverish  eagerness  and  hid  away  lest  Frances 
should  see  them,  the  frequent  expeditions  into 
the  City,  vaguely  explained  as  "business,"  the 
commonplace,  often  vulgar,  visitors  who  left 
behind  them  a  worried  and  irritable  hostess,  all 
suggested  to  Hilary  something  below  the  surface 
she  was  not  allowed  to  know. 

"  It's  a  thousand  pities  that  .like  the  lamented 
Sherlock  Holmes,  I  cannot  help  being  observ- 
ant," she  said,  shrugging  her  shoulders.  "  I 
hate  myself  for  developing  such  a  talent  for 
suspicion.  Besides,  it  is  so  much  more  comfort- 
able not  to  see  things  you  are  not  meant  to 
see,  and  to  be  certain  that  everything  about 
you  is  right  and  straightforward.  I  am  not 
surprised  that  Aunt  Sophie  should  not  consult 
me  about  her  business,  but  why  should  she 
make  such  a  point  of  keeping  Frances  in  the 
dark  about  the  merest  details  ? " 

She  knew  that,  in  her  own  way,  Mrs. 
Pederson  loved  Frances  and  relied  on  her 
judgment.  If  she  feared  Frances'  criticism  it 


46  Mas.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

must  be  because  she  knew  that  Frances  would 
condemn. 

Mrs.  Pederson  did  not  appear  again,  and 
Hilary  ate  her  dinner  in  solitary  state.  It  was 
some  compensation  to  remember  that  there 
would  be  no  spilikins  or  dominoes  to  wile 
away  the  long  evening  hours.  She  went  back 
to  the  library  and  sat  down  to  write  her 
weekly  letter  to  Madame  Brun.  It  was 
astonishing  how  much  she  found  to  tell  her  old 
governess,  and  she  enjoyed  the  writing  of  these 
letters  almost  as  much  as  Madame  Brun  did 
the  reading  of  them. 

This  evening  the  tide  of  Hilary's  eloquence 
ebbed  to  extinction.  She  could  not  concentrate 
her  mind  on  a  vivacious  account  of  her  after- 
noon's expedition,  nor  find  words  to  tell  of 
the  week's  happenings. 

In  spite  of  a  valiant  determination  not  to 
trouble  herself  about  Aunt  Sophie's  affairs,  the 
thought  of  her  vexation  and  its  evident  connec- 
tion with  Chivers  Smith  would  come  between 
her  and  the  sheets  of  paper. 

Hilary's  was  a  singularly  open  and  direct 
nature.  She  disliked  any  necessity  for  conceal- 
ment and  abhorred  deceit.  To  know  that  those 
with  whom  she  must  spend  her  life  had 


MRS.  PEDERSON'S  VISITOR.  47 

schemes  and  worries  of  which  she  was  kept 
ignorant,  presumably  because  she  was  unfit  or 
not  trustworthy  enough  to  share  them,  hurt 
and  angered  her.  If  there  were  wrong  she  did 
not  wish  to  know  it,  but  she  wanted  to  be 
allowed  to  help  and  sympathise  in  any  trouble. 

She  got  up  and  moved  restlessly  about  the 
room.  Like  all  Mrs.  Pederson's  rooms,  it  was 
hot  and  close,  and  the  aroma  of  the  afternoon's 
muffins  still  hung  about  it.  She  longed  to 
throw  open  one  of  the  windows,  but  that 
would  have  been  a  bold  defiance  of  the  rules 
of  the  house.  At  sundown  every  window  ot 
No.  10  was  shut  and  bolted  for  the  night. 

"Ill  finish  my  letter  and  go  out  and  post 
it,"  she  said,  sitting  down  at  the  writing-table 
again.  "A  breath  of  fresh  air  will  blow  away 
the  dismals ;  I  hate  to  feel  mopish  and  dull." 

She  added  a  few  lines  to  her  letter,  saying 
she  was  "too  tired,  cross,  worried,  anything 
dear  Madame  liked  to  think,  to  continue  the 
history  of  her  daily  doings,"  then  folded  the 
sheet  of  paper,  put  it  into  an  envelope  and 
addressed  it. 

Mantle  was  crossing  the  hall  as  Hilary 
unbolted  the  hall  door. 

"  Miss    Hilary  1    You   are  not  going  out  at 


48  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

this  hour  of  the  night  surely  ? "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Whatever  would  mistress  say  1  If  you  want 
your  letter  posted  particular  to-night,  I'll  send 
Eliza  with  it." 

Hilary  laughed  and  shook  her  head. 

"  I  shall  not  be  gone  ten  minutes,  and  no  one 
will  hurt  me,"  she  said.  "A  breath  of  fresh 
air  I  must  and  will  have,  even  at  the  risk  of 
shocking  you  and  Mrs.  Grundy,  my  good 
Mantle." 

The  maid  looked  dubious  and  half  inclined  to 
follow  the  girl,  but  Hilary  settled  the  matter 
by  shutting  the  door  behind  her  and  running 
down  the  steps  into  the  square. 

The  nearest  letter-box  was  in  the  next 
square,  and  as  Hilary  walked  briskly  towards 
it,  she  felt  her  spirits  rise.  The  cool  air 
fanned  her  cheeks  and  the  rapid  movement 
stirred  her  blood. 

"After  all,"  she  said,  half  aloud,  "I  may, 
as  Aunt  Sophie  says,  be  making  a  mountain 
out  of  a  molehill.  I  must  not  judge  her  by 
the  standard  of  manners  and  feelings  set  up  by 
dear  Madame." 

She  paused  under  the  gas-lamp  beside  the 
letter-box  to  verify  the  address  before  commit- 
ting her  missive  to  the  post. 


Mas.  PEDERSON'S  VISITOR.  49 

A  man,  passing  at  the  moment,  stared  at 
the  girlish  face  lit  by  the  falling  light,  and 
stopped  abruptly  with  a  familiar  "  Good 
evening." 

Hilary  started  and  looked  at  the  stranger 
with  surprise  and  annoyance,  then  turned  away 
with  her  head  held  high.  She  had  recognised 
at  once  the  thick-set  figure  in  the  loud  check 
suit,  and  concluded  rightly  that  its  owner  had 
seen  her  enter  No.  10  earlier  in  the  day.  But 
that  gave  him  no  right  to  address  her,  she 
said  to  herself  indignantly.  She  might  live 
under  Aunt  Sophie's  roof,  but  that  lady's 
acquaintances  were  not  necessarily  hers. 

Chivers  Smith  seemed  to  think  otherwise.  He 
lifted  his  hat  and  turned  to  walk  with  her  in 
the  direction  of  Markham  Square. 

"Miss  Pederson,  I  think,"  he  said  coolly. 
"The  moment  I  saw  you  under  the  lamp  I 
said  in  the  words  of  the  song,  '  Where  have  I 
seen  that  face  before  ? '  and  then  it  came  back 
to  me  like  a  shot.  I  saw  you  go  into  No.  10 
this  afternoon,  and  since  you  had  a  latchkey 
I  made  a  good  guess  that  you  lived  there. 
You  are  the  niece  the  old  lady  has  talked 
about,  and  too  pretty  a  girl  to  be  mixed  up 
with  her  little  affairs." 


5O  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECS. 

Hilary  interrupted  him  in  a  tone  which 
was  meant  to  be  cutting,  though  he  walked  on 
with  her  apparently  unwounded. 

"Please  go  away.  I  do  not  know  you  and 
you  have  no  right  to  speak  to  me." 

"If  you  have  not  heard  of  Chivers  Smith, 
my  dear  young  lady,  you  will  live  and  learn," 
he  said  genially.  "I  don't  need  you  to  tell 
me  it  is  not  just  the  correct  thing  to  make 
myself  known  to  you  like  this,  but  it's  worth 
your  while  to  listen  to  me.  If  you'll  take  my 
advice  you  won't  cut  up  rough  when  Chivers 
Smith  wants  to  give  you  a  tip." 

Hilary's  cheeks  burned  and  she  quickened 
her  pace.  She  had  not  even  guessed  that  the 
world  held  such  odious  people  as  the  man 
beside  her,  and  that  he  should  speak  to  her 
in  this  manner  was  incredible.  He  threatened 
her  too  !  No  doubt  he  menaced  poor  Aunt 
Sophie  in  the  same  manner;  but  she  was  not 
afraid  of  him  as  Aunt  Sophie  manifestly  was, 
though  why  she  should  be  was  past  understand- 
ing. What  power  could  he  really  have  over  a 
woman  in  Mrs.  Pederson's  position  ?  What  claim 
could  he  possibly  hold  against  her  ? 

"Your  threats  are  nothing  to  me,"  she  said 
contemptuously.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  any- 


MRS.  PEDERSON' s  VISITOR.  51 

thing  you  may  have  to  say.  What  harm  could 
you  ever  do  me  or  Mrs.  Pederson,  even  if  you 
had  the  heart  to  inflict  injury  on  a  fellow 
creature  ?  " 

The  young  man  laughed  with  evident  amuse- 
ment. 

"In  our  way  of  business  we  don't  stop 
short  through  any  little  weaknesses  of  the 
heart,"  he  said,  disagreeably.  "You  may  be 
sure  of  this,  though,  that  any  harm  that  comes 
to  Mrs.  Pederson  will  lie  at  her  own  door. 
She  won't  want  much  helping.  There  aren't 
many  have  her  spirit  and  go." 

Hilary  bit  her  lip.  Would  she  never  reach 
No.  10,  and  was  there  no  way  of  shaking  off 
this  detestable  man  ?  Why  had  she  not  been 
guided  by  Mantle,  who  saw  the  folly  of 
strolling  out  alone  after  dinner  ?  She  walked 
swiftly,  looking  straight  before  her,  her  eyes 
ablaze  with  indignation. 

"I  say,  you  are  thinking  me  an  awful  cad, 
Miss  Pederson." 

Hilary  did  not  deny  the  fact,  though  it  only 
faintly  described  her  feeling. 

"And  honestly,  I  only  wanted  to  give  you  a 
tip.  It  is  the  first  and  only  thoroughly  dis- 
interested thing  that  has  ever  been  set  to  my 


52  MRS.  PEDERSON'S 

credit,  and  it  seems  as  though  kindness  doesn't 
pay  very  high  dividends,"  the  young  man  said, 
in  a  tone  of  half-mocking  apology. 

Hilary  turned  and  looked  him  full  in  the 
face. 

"Your  ideas  of  kindness  and  honour  and 
mine  differ.  I  refuse  to  hear  my  aunt's  private 
business  from  any  lips  but  her  own.  As  for 
your  threats  and  your  hints  of  future  disaster 
unless  we  court  your  favour,  I  do  not  care  for 
them  in  the  least.  You  may  have  a  score  of 
evil  plots  in  your  mind,  but  I  will  never 
believe  that  a  man  like  you  has  power  to  hurt 
me  or  mine." 

She  saw  that  for  some  reason  her  words  hit 
him  hard,  and  she  was  glad  of  it  She  turned 
from  him,  and  running  up  the  steps,  let 
herself  into  the  house  and  shut  the  door 
behind  her. 

Chivers  Smith  stood  for  a  moment  on  the 
pavement  looking  after  her.  Then  he  laughed 
softly  and  thrust  his  hands  deep  in  the  pockets 
of  his  short  coat 

"I  like  her  spirit  and  that  way  she  has  of 
looking  straight  at  one,  but  spirit  and  pride 
won't  help  her  if  she's  dependent  on  the  old 
lady.  It'll  be  a  pity,  for  she's  a  cut  above 


MRS.  PEDERSON'S  VISITOR.  53 

Mrs.  P.  and  worth  a  better  fate  than  losing 
her  bottom  dollar." 

He  moved  off  in  the  direction  of  the  City, 
whistling  thoughtfully.  It  was  not  often  that 
Chivers  Smith  thought  for  half  an  hour  con- 
secutively of  anything  but  money,  but  to-night, 
as  he  let  himself  into  his  dingy  office  in 
Chancery  Lane,  he  was  still  thinking  of  Hilary 
Pederson  and  the  lift  of  her  head  as  she  told 
him  that  her  thoughts  were  not  his  thoughts 
nor  her  world  his  world. 

In  the  chequered  course  of  his  life  it  had 
not  fallen  to  his  lot  to  see  many  girls  of 
Hilary's  type.  His  own  sisters  were  altogether 
different,  and  they  were  almost  strangers  to  him. 
Nor  had  their  open  contempt  for  himself  tended 
to  bridge  the  gulf  or  to  sweeten  the  relations 
between  them.  Men  and  women  usually 
showed  their  darkest  side  to  Chivers  Smith, 
and  his  intercourse  with  them  was  seldom 
pleasant. 

Nominally  a  stockbroker,  he  was  actually 
a  moneylender  of  the  most  usurious  type,  and 
those  who  came  to  his  little  office  seldom 
cherished  any  but  the  most  bitter  memories  of 
their  transactions  with  him.  His  brokerage 
seemed  mere  gambling  when  their  money  was 


54  Mas.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

gone,  and  his  loans,  so  genially  offered,  were  of 
no  tangible  or  lasting  benefit. 

One  thing  was  certain,  the  young  man  was 
laying  by  money  and  might  already  be  called 
wealthy.  It  was  his  ambition  to  be  a 
prominent  man  in  the  City  and  to  take  his 
place  in  a  social  circle  above  that  in  which  he 
had  been  born.  He  believed  that  he  could 
achieve  these  heights  if  he  were  rich,  extra- 
ordinarily rich,  and  to  the  making  of  money 
he  set  himself  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other 
interests. 

To-night,  after  his  interview  with  Hilary, 
he  felt  that  he  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
world  it  was  his  ambition  to  enter,  and  which 
he  began  dimly  to  see  was  not  all  money- 
making  and  self-aggrandisement.  Something  in 
Hilary's  clear  eyes  told  him  more  convincingly 
than  words  that  she  would  never  sell  honour 
for  social  position,  nor  would  she  cringe  before 
him  though  he  robbed  her  of  her  last  penny. 
He  might  cheat  her  and  defraud  her,  but  she 
would  have  no  feeling  for  him  but  contempt 
or  pity.  If  she  were  driven  to  sweep  a  crossing 
for  a  living  she  would  still  be  miles  above 
him.  She  breathed  a  mental  atmosphere  too 
rarefied  for  him. 


MRS.  PEDERSON'S  VISITOR.  55 

No  one  is  wholly  base  or  callous,  and  that 
Chivers  Smith  could  recognise  these  qualities  in 
Hilary  Pederson  in  one  brief  interview,  and  give 
them  the  meed  of  his  admiration,  argued  that 
he  was  not  yet  wholly  the  slave  of  greed. 

Hilary  had  builded  better  than  she  knew 
that  night. 


CHAPTER    V. 

A    NEW    FRIEND. 

MRS.  PEDERSON  had  this  grace,  she  never 
nursed  her  grievances.  They  might  overwhelm 
her  for  the  moment,  but  when  she  found  they 
did  not  kill,  she  rose  superior  to  them. 

She  came  down  to  breakfast  next  morning 
with  a  face  wreathed  with  smiles,  and  in  a  blouse 
of  exceptional  smartness. 

Evidently  the  painful  hour  in  the  library 
was  to  be  ignored,  and  Hilary  discreetly  ab- 
stained from  inquiry  concerning  the  neuralgic 
headache. 

"My  dear  Hilary,  I  have  made  such  a 
delightful  plan  for  spending  the  day,"  Mrs. 
Pederson  said,  when  her  temporal  needs  had 
been  carefully  supplied  and  Eliza  had  been 
twice  summoned  to  convey  messages  of  com- 
plaint and  reproof  to  the  cook.  "A  delightful 
whole  day's  outing.  It  came  into  my  head 
as  I  lay  awake  this  morning." 

Hilary  looked  up  from  her  plate  without 
any  overpowering  sense  of  elation.  She  shrewdly 


A  NEW  FRIEND.  57 

guessed  that  the  main  object  of  these  matutinal 
cogitations  was  to  supply  her  with  a  new 
interest  which  should  oust  any  tendency  to 
dwell  on  the  visit  of  Chivers  Smith. 

"I  have  not  seen  my  cousin  Paul  Kemsing 
for  months,"  Mrs.  Pederson  went  on  airily. 
"He  is  an  artist,  you  know,  with  a  charming 
house  at  Sydenham,  quite  a  palatial  place  in 
its  way,  not  large,  but  exquisitely  furnished.  I 
believe  he  got  one  of  the  big  firms  to  do  it 
throughout,  though,  of  course,  under  his  own 
direction.  Paul  always  had  such  queer  taste — 
the  fruit  of  having  the  artistic  temperament,  I 
suppose.  I  have  not  seen  anything  of  him  for 
ages,  for  he  and  your  Uncle  Gervase  did  not 
get  on  very  well.  It  is  a  lovely  morning,  we 
could  not  have  a  nicer  day  for  an  excursion. 
I  will  send  Eliza  to  order  a  carriage  and  we 
will  drive  down  to  Sydenham  to  lunch." 

"But,  Aunt  Sophie,  if  we  are  not  expected 
won't  it  be  awkward  for  Mr.  Kemsing  to  have 
us  pounce  down  on  him  in  that  unceremonious 
way  ? "  said  Hilary,  though  the  expedition 
sounded  inviting. 

Mrs.  Pederson  tossed  her  head. 

"  My  goodness,  Hilary  !  as  if  relations  couldn't 
visit  without  a  formal  invitation.  And  to  describe 


58  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

my  lunching  with  my  cousin  Paul  as  '  pouncing '  I 
I  might  be  a  hawk  or  a  beast  of  prey  to 
hear  you ! " 

"  I  recall  the  opprobrious  term/'  said  Hilary, 
laughing.  "If  you  are  sure  that  Mr.  Kemsing 
will  welcome  us,  it  will  be  a  delightful  outing." 

"There  is  the  Crystal  Palace  to  fall  back 
upon  if  Paul  happens  to  be  away  from  home," 
Mrs.  Pederson  added,  as  she  proceeded  with  her 
breakfast  and  advised  Hilary  to  follow  her 
example. 

"Pleasuring  is  hungry  work,"  she  explained; 
"I  always  make  a  point  of  taking  plenty  of 
support  before  I  start." 

It  was  arranged  that  they  should  leave 
Markham  Square  at  eleven  o'clock,  and  five 
minutes  before  that  hour  Hilary  stood  in  the 
dining-room  window  ready  to  start.  Mrs.  Peder- 
son's  voice  could  be  heard  in  the  hall,  chanti- 
cleering  a  few  final  orders  to  the  much-enduring 
Mantle  with  an  energy  unsubdued  by  the  heat 
of  the  day. 

"Oh,  how  can  people  fuss  so  with  the 
thermometer  at  seventy  in  the  shade  ? "  said 
Hilary  to  herself,  as  she  picked  up  her  sun- 
shade. A  glance  into  the  square,  however, 
told  her  that  this  would  be  a  superfluous 


A  NEW  FRIEND.  59 

addition  to  her  toilet.  With  her  usual  pre- 
caution against  draughts  and  chills,  Mrs.  Peder- 
son  had  ordered  a  closed  carriage. 

"  Oh,  dear !  I  wish  I  had  not  started  the 
day  with  a  headache,"  sighed  the  girl,  as  she 
went  slowly  down  the  steps  and  took  her  seat 
beside  her  aunt.  "It  will  be  terribly  hot  boxed 
up  in  a  brougham  this  warm  morning." 

"  I'm  glad  I  thought  of  taking  you  to  Syden- 
ham  to-day,  Hilary,"  Mrs.  Pederson  said,  as  the 
carriage  rolled  out  of  Markham  Square.  "You 
look  quite  pale  and  as  though  a  breath  of 
country  air  would  be  just  the  thing  for  you. 
You've  a  headache  ?  I've  never  known  you  to 
have  one  before,  so  it  must  be  the  heat.  Take 
my  vinaigrette,  it's  an  invaluable  specific.  I 
want  my  little  adopted  daughter  to  make  a 
good  impression  on  Paul  Kemsing." 

She  pressed  the  gold-topped  bottle  fussily 
upon  Hilary,  who  declared  the  headache  would 
pass  away,  and  declined  the  remedy. 

Aunt  Sophie  shook  her  head  dubiously. 
She  had  a  firm  belief  that  no  malady  "passed" 
without  stringent  measures,  and  for  headache 
that  particular  vinaigrette  was  simply  miracu- 
lous. She  chattered  on  of  numerous  acquaint- 
ances who  had  tested  its  virtues  and  risen  up 


6o  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECB. 

to  call  hei>  blessed,  whilst  Hilary  listened 
dreamily,  putting  in  a  word  now  and  then  as 
an  earnest  of  her  attention. 

She  did  not  anticipate  much  pleasure  from 
the  visit  to  the  artist ;  so  many  of  Aunt 
Sophie's  swans  turned  out  to  be  very  common- 
place geese ;  but  the  drive,  after  a  while,  be- 
came delightful.  The  carriage  bowled  through 
tree-shaded  roads,  past  parks  and  well-kept 
gardens  ablaze  with  flowers. 

"I  wished  we  lived  out  here  instead  of  in 
dull  Markham  Square,  Aunt  Sophie,"  she  said, 
craning  her  head  out  of  the  window  in  a  most 
undignified  fashion.  "  Isn't  it  possible  for  us  to 
change  our  abode  ?  " 

Mrs.  Pederson  shook  her  head.  "Thank 
goodness,  I've  a  long  lease  of  the  house ;  but 
I  would  not  leave  it  if  I  could.  I  should  die 
if  I  had  to  stay  here  a  whole  month.  It  is 
pretty  enough,  but  give  me  the  streets  and  the 
shops,  with  plenty  of  life  and  stir.  Your  uncle 
once  took  a  house  on  Dartford  Heath  for  a 
year,  but  the  empty,  endless  days  drove  me 
wild.  If  I  had  not  been  able  to  run  up  to 
town  once  a  week  and  bike  all  over  the 
place  I  should  have  gone  mad." 

Mrs,  Pederson  was  an  ardent  cyclist  despite 


A  NEW  FRIEND.  61 

the  fact  that  she  rode  execrably,  and  always 
returned  from  a  ride  with  the  exultant  air  of 
one  who  has  faced  death  and  conquered  it  by 
her  own  skill  and  agility.  Her  description  of 
a  ride  always  bristled  with  hairbreadth  escapes 
and  unlucky  "spills." 

"We  will  cycle  down  here  next  time  we 
come,  Hilary,"  she  said  with  decision.  "The 
roads  are  good,  and  it  is  not  nearly  so  far  as 
your  uncle  Gervase  pretended.  Ah  I  here  we 
are  at  last.  I  wonder  whether  we  shall  find 
Paul  at  home." 

The  carriage  drew  up  as  she  spoke  at  a 
little  green  gate  upon  which  was  painted  in 
white  letters  "The  Nook."  The  gate  was  set 
in  a  long  brick  wall  over  which  peeped  a 
tangle  of  roses  and  the  gnarled  branches  of 
ancient  fruit  trees.  Through  the  bloom  and  the 
lacework  of  boughs  Hilary  caught  sight  of  the 
gables  and  chimneys  of  a  red-brick  house  set 
high  above  the  road  on  a  grassy  bank. 

She  sprang  out  of  the  carriage  and  took  a 
long  breath  of  the  soft,  fragrant  air,  wondering 
how  anyone  in  their  senses  could  prefer  the 
dusty,  dingy  town  to  this  heavenly  spot. 

"You  can  go  and  find  some  place  to  bait 
the  horses  and  return  for  us  in  three  hours," 


62  MRS.  PEDERSON' s  NIECE. 

Mrs.  Pederson  directed  the  coachman.  "Now, 
Hilary,  don't  stand  gaping  around  you  as 
though  you  had  never  seen  a  tree  before.  Let 
us  go  up  to  the  house  and  make  sure  of  some 
luncheon.  It's  unfortunate  that  Paul  is  one 
of  the  tiresome  people  who  don't  care  a 
row  of  pins  about  their  food,  for  it  makes 
the  prospect  of  our  being  decently  fed  more 
problematical." 

"Beggars  mustn't  be  choosers,"  cried  Hilary 
merrily.  "I  feel  as  though  I  want  nothing  but 
the  proverbial  cup  of  cold  water  and  permission 
to  ramble  about  this  lovely  old  garden." 

A  bell  hung  beside  the  gate,  and  Mrs. 
Pederson  pulled  it  vigorously.  In  a  few  minutes 
the  gate  was  opened  by  an  old  man  with  a 
face  rosy  and  wrinkled  as  a  winter  apple,  and 
eyes  which  twinkled  humorously. 

"  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Kemsing — Mr.  Paul 
Kemsing,"  said  Mrs.  Pederson.  "I  wish  to  see 
him  at  once." 

She  always  spoke  with  great  slowness  and 
many  repetitions  when  she  addressed  those  of 
a  lower  station,  as  though  she  imagined  that 
their  faculties  were  in  the  same  ratio  to  her  own 
as  their  worldly  position. 

"The    master    is    at    home,    but    whether 


A  NEW  FRIEND.  63 

he's  to  be  seen  is  a  coat  of  another 
colour,"  the  old  man  replied,  studying  the 
visitor  as  though  she  were  a  denizen  of  another 
world.  "He  don't  set  much  store  by  women 
callers;  sort  of  interrupts  his  work,  you  see." 
His  beady  eyes  twinkled  more  than  ever. 
"There's  some  as  say  that  he  don't  lose 
much  anyway." 

"What  an  extraordinary  old  man!"  Mrs. 
Pederson  exclaimed.  "  I  should  think  Paul  must 
be  setting  up  a  private  lunatic  asylum."  She 
adopted  a  louder  tone  and  a  more  conciliatory 
manner.  "My  good  creature,  you  don't  under- 
stand me.  I  am  not  an  ordinary  caller.  I 
am  a  relation  of  your  master's,  a  cousin  of 
his,  by  name  Mrs.  Pederson.  Take  me  and 
my  niece  to  the  house  and  then  carry  my 
name  to  your  master." 

She  stepped  quickly  across  the  threshold, 
drawing  Hilary  after  her,  and  the  old  man, 
chuckling  to  himself,  led  the  way  to  the  entrance 
of  the  house. 

"It's  quite  an  adventure,"  giggled  Mrs. 
Pederson.  "Paul  always  managed  to  get  the 
queerest  people  about  him." 

"  It's  an  uncommonly  disagreeable  adventure," 
Hilary  retorted.  "It  is  not  pleasant  to  feel 


64  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

that  one  is  forcing  oneself  into  the  house 
unasked  and  apparently  unwelcomed." 

"  What  nonsense,  child  1  Relations  certainly 
have  a  right  to  go  unasked  to  each  other's 
homes.  Paul  and  I  were  great  friends  in  the  dear 
old  'long  ago/  though  we  certainly  quarrelled 
tremendously." 

The  old  man  summoned  an  elderly  house- 
keeper, who  led  the  visitors  into  a  bright  little 
morning-room.  There  she  asked  them  to  be 
seated  whilst  she  went  to  tell  Mr.  Kemsing 
of  their  visit. 

What  manner  of  man  Hilary  expected  this 
cousin  of  Aunt  Sophie's  to  be  she  scarcely 
knew,  but  he  had  no  likeness  to  the  real 
Paul  Kemsing,  who  entered  a  few  minutes 
later. 

Mr.  Kemsing  was  tall,  he  had  a  very  high 
forehead,  very  shaggy  eyebrows  which  shaded 
blue  and  kindly  eyes,  a  shy,  courteous  manner, 
and  a  humorous  smile.  He  wore  a  silk  stock 
in  place  of  a  collar,  and  a  long,  oddly 
fashioned  coat  of  buff  linen.  In  spite  of  this 
strange  attire  he  could  not  be  mistaken  for  any- 
thing but  a  gentleman  as  he  came  forward  to 
greet  his  visitors.  Hilary  decided  on  the  spot 
that  she  liked  him,  and  wondered  exceedingly 


A  NEW  FRIEND.  65 

that  he  should  be  even  distantly  related  to 
Mrs.  Pederson. 

"  My  dear  Sophie  Pederson,  this  is  indeed 
a  surprise/'  he  said ;  "  I  wonder  what  can  have 
recalled  my  insignificant  self  to  your  recollec- 
tion. And  who  is  this  young  lady?  Not 
another  daughter  of  the  Major's  ?  " 

Mrs.  Pederson  hastened  to  explain  the 
relationship  and  to  introduce  Hilary.  "Really 
my  little  adopted  daughter,  you  know,"  she  said 
gushingly. 

"  She  is  fortunate,  I  do  not  doubt,"  he 
replied  gravely,  yet  with  an  odd  twinkle  in 
his  eyes.  He  turned  to  Hilary  and  set  her  at 
ease  by  a  few  kindly  questions  about  her  school 
life,  and  a  word  or  two  of  unmistakably  sincere 
welcome. 

"You  are  both  going  to  lunch  with  me,  of 
course.  I  have  already  given  Mrs.  Murdoch  direc- 
tions," he  said.  "It  is  months  since  I  had  the 
company  of  ladies  at  my  frugal  meal.  This 
little  festivity  comes  also  on  a  day  when  I  have 
brought  successfully  to  completion  the  work 
of  eighteen  months.  I  always  like  to  mark 
such  a  day  with  some  festivity,  and  this  is 
certainly  more  charming  than  a  run  up  to  town 
or  a  turn  in  the  grounds  of  the  Palace." 


66  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

"Oh,  you  have  finished  another  picture/' 
cried  Mrs.  Pederson.  "You  must  show  it  to 
us  after  luncheon.  I  hate  to  see  unfinished 
things,  they  look  such  daubs." 

"You   shall  not   see    the    daubs,  I  promise  t 
you,"  Mr.  Kemsing  said,  smiling. 

When  luncheon  was  announced  he  led  the 
way  to  the  dining-room. 

A  glance  told  Mrs.  Pederson  that  she  need 
have  no  fears  concerning  the  quality  of  her 
meal,  and  she  sat  down  with  manifest  relief: 
If  the  artist  cared  nothing  about  such  details 
himself,  his  domestic  arrangements  were  in 
excellent  hands.  A  round  table  was  set  in  the 
bow  window  overlooking  the  garden,  and  upon 
it  were  spread  the  daintily  garnished  dishes, 
the  gleaming  silver,  and  the  sparkling  glass 
which  pertain  to  a  delicately  served  luncheon. 

When  they  rose  from  the  table  the  artist 
proposed  an  adjournment  to  the  studio.  Hilary, 
had  charmed  him  by  her  sweet,  frank  talk,  and 
he  had  a  fancy  to  see  how  his  latest  work 
would  strike  one  who  had  not  been  spoilt  by 
a  surfeit  of  galleries  and  was  incapable  of  giving 
him  pleasant  little  insincerities. 

Mrs.  Pederson  consulted  her  watch. 

"I  told  our  coachman  to  come  back  in  three 


A  NEW  FRIEND.  67 

hours,  and  we  have  sat  an  unconscionable  time 
over  luncheon.  Suppose  you  take  Hilary  to 
the  studio  without  me,  Paul  ?  I  must  ask  your 
housekeeper  how  she  made  that  mayonnaise 
sauce.  Those  things  are  really  more  in  my 
line  than  pictures,  you  know." 

She  bustled  off  in  the  direction  of  the  house 
keeper's  room,  calling  for  "  Murdoch "  as  though 
she  had  known  that  stately  personage  a  dozen 
years. 

The  studio  to  which  the  old  artist  led 
Hilary  was  a  large  room  built  out  into  the 
garden.  A  great  north  window  filled  one  end, 
and  its  walls  were  draped  with  quaint 
hangings,  and  hung  with  pictures  in  a  more 
or  less  finished  condition. 

"Now,  I  will  show  you  anything  you  think 
likely  to  interest  you,  Miss  Hilary,"  he  said 
kindly.  "You  must  not  imagine  that  you  are 
monopolising  time  I  can  ill  spare ;  I  am  at 
perfect  liberty  to-day.  You  must  tell  me  just 
what  you  think  of  each  picture.  It  does  us  old 
people  good  at  times  to  see  how  things  look 
through  the  eyes  of  the  young." 

Hilary  felt  sure  that  she  would  never  dare 
to  criticise,  but  before  long  she  found  herself 
chatting  quite  unrestrainedly  with  her  kindly 


68  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

host.  Long  before  the  hour  struck  for  her 
departure  and  Mrs.  Pederson  appeared  in  the 
wake  of  the  tea  she  had  ordered,  they  were  on 
the  border-line  of  friendship. 

As  they  studied  the  pictures  and  chatted 
about  them,  the  girl  had  found  herself  telling 
him  of  her  own  little  difficulties  and  the  gulf 
which  lay  between  her  old  life  and  the  new. 

"I  can  imagine  that  the  atmosphere  of 
Markham  Square  is  not  quite  so  rarefied  as  that 
of  the  Pension,"  the  artist  said  slowly.  "Tell 
me,  my  child,  are  you  happy  there  ? " 

Hilary  started,  and  the  colour  rushed  to 
her  cheeks.  In  the  pleasure  of  talking  with 
one  who  seemed  to  understand  and  sympathise, 
she  had  spoken  more  unguardedly  than  she 
intended.  She  hated  to  think  that  her  frankness 
savoured  of  disloyalty  to  Aunt  Sophie. 

"  Happy  ?  Yes.  Surely  one  can  be  happy 
anywhere,"  she  said  lightly.  "  My  old  governess 
used  to  tell  us  that  happiness  was  an  accom- 
plishment, and  that  every  girl  ought  to  acquire 
it" 

The  artist  smiled.  "  She  was  a  wise  woman, 
though  I  cannot  altogether  agree  with  her. 
Most  generalisations  have  some  vulnerable 
point.  Happiness  is  a  gift  as  well  as  an 


A  NEW  FRIEND.  69 

accomplishment  You  may  throw  it  away  or 
you  may  increase  it  by  culture.  It  is  your  good 
fortune  to  be  thus  endowed.  You  may  suffer, 
as  we  all  have  to  do,  but  you  won't  hang  the 
world  in  black  on  that  account.  You  are  bora 
to  recover  from  calamities.  Do  you  see  this 
sketch  ?  " 

He  turned  a  canvas  which  had  been  placed 
on  an  easel  with  its  face  to  the  wall. 

It  was  an  unfinished  portrait  of  a  girl 
scarcely  more  than  Hilary's  age,  a  girl  with  a 
small  oval  face,  red  lips  parted  in  a  frank,  sweet 
smile,  and  dark  eyes  sparkling  from  a  tangle  of 
red-gold  hair. 

"  It  will  never  be  finished,"  he  said  regret- 
fully. "It  was  painted  two  years  ago,  and  I 
hoped  to  exhibit  it.  But  troubles  came  to  my 
little  friend  and  she  lost  interest  in  life.  Now, 
you  would  have  ridden  on  the  top  of  the  waves 
which  drowned  all  the  brightness  Aglae 
possessed.  If  anyone  saw  that  picture  now 
they  would  pass  it  by  as  a  sketch  which  merely 
resembled  slightly  the  Aglae  of  to-day. 
Happiness,  you  see,  is  a  question  of  will  and 
temperament  as  well  as  of  acquirement." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  do  not  know  me  very  well 
yet,  Cousin  Paul,"  Hilary  said  quickly.  "Un- 


70  MRS.  PEDERSON  s  NIECE. 

bridled  cheerfulness  is  not  easy  even  to  me.  It 
would  be  nice  to  be  made  of  material  warranted 
not  to  fret,  but  I  have  hours  when  it  does  not 
seem  possible  to  be  bright  or  to  laugh  at 
things." 

"  My  dear  child,  I  know,"  the  old  man  said 
quietly.  "But  I  agree  with  that  old  governess 
of  yours  in  this — your  capacity  for  joy  is  of 
the  growing  sort.  It  will  increase  amazingly 
with  effort 

"Take  Joy  home 

And  make  a  place  in  thy  great  heart  for  her, 
Then  will  she  come  and  oft  will  sing  to  thee 
When  thou  art  working  in  the  furrows — ay, 
It  is  a  comely  fashion  to  be  glad." 

Hilary  looked  up  with  shining  eyes.  "Yes, 
I  have  always  loved  those  lines  of  Miss 
Ingelow's.  I  know  it  is  'a  comely  fashion  to 
be  glad,'  but  it  is  not  always  easy  to  be  in 
the  fashion."  She  hesitated,  and  glanced  shyly 
at  her  companion. 

"Will  you  let  me  come  and  see  you  some- 
times, Cousin  Paul,  when  I  feel  myself  getting 
frumpy  ?  I  could  cycle  down,  you  know,  if  I 
were  sure  you  would  not  think  me  intrusive." 

"My  dear  child,  come  as  often  and  when 
you  like.  If  I  am  not  in  the  mood  for  visitors 


"'It  will  never  be  finished,'  he  said   regretfully"  (p.  69). 


A  NEW  FRIEND.  71 

I  shall  just  tell  you  so  and  let  you  amuse 
yourself  as  you  please.  I  think  you  and  I 
are  going  to  be  great  friends,  though  I 
belong  to  a  past  generation,  and  the  young 
of  to-day  are  rather  incomprehensible  to 
their  elders." 

Hilary  laughed.  "I  have  not  the  reputa- 
tion for  being  cryptic,  Cousin  Paul,  I  assure 
you." 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  Mrs.  Pederson 
appeared. 

"I  hope  you  two  are  not  quarrelling,"  she 
cried  banteringly.  "You  remember  that  we 
could  not  be  left  together  five  minutes,  Paul, 
in  our  young  days,  without  coming  to  wordy 
warfare.  I  have  got  the  recipe  I  wanted, 
and  your  housekeeper  is  a  treasure.  Mind  you 
don't  quarrel  with  her  and  incite  her  to  leave 
you.  It  is  an  awful  mistake  to  offend 
decent  servants.  I  endure  untold  impertin- 
ences from  Mantle  because  she  is  such  a 
good  soul." 

She  helped  herself  to  tea  and  poured  out 
some  for  her  cousin  and  Hilary,  talking  so 
fast  all  the  time  that  she  did  not  hear  the 
artist's  protest  that  he  took  neither  sugar 
nor  cream. 


72  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  carriage  was 
announced,  and  she  haled  Hilary  away  in  a 
bustle  of  good-byes  and  promises  to  "come 
again,"  which  scarcely  called  forth  profound 
gratitude  from  her  host. 

"My  dear  Hilary,  what  did  you  and  Paul 
find  to  talk  about  all  that  time  ? "  she  said,  as 
she  sank  back  breathless  in  the  carriage.  "  I  was 
pitying  you  dreadfully,  but  that  good  creature, 
Murdoch,  had  so  much  to  tell  me  about  the 
smart  people  who  come  to  see  Paul  that  I 
could  not  tear  myself  away.  I  had  no  idea 
he  was  such  a  big  man  in  the  artistic  world. 
I  never  could  see  anything  in  his  pictures  my- 
self. Give  me  something  with  a  story  in  it, 
not  a  splash  of  faded  colours  that  look  as 
though  the  brush  had  done  it  without  human 
aid.  Whatever  does  he  aim  at  in  his  paint- 
ing?" 

Hilary  made  a  valiant  effort  to  explain,  but 
her  observations  fell  on  deaf  ears.  It  was  a 
provoking  habit  of  Mrs.  Pederson's  to  express 
curiosity  about  things  she  had  not  the  faintest 
interest  in  when  they  were  explained  to  her. 
She  broke  in  ruthlessly  on  Hilary's  well-meant 
attempt  to  be  lucid. 

"  Yes,    dear,   I  see,  though    I'm  not    clever 


A  NEW  FRIEND.  73 

enough  to  like  it  all.  But  now  tell  me  what 
you  think  of  Paul.  I  could  tell  you  were 
taken  with  him,  and  it  seems  that  he  is 
quite  a  person  to  cultivate,  though  I  say 
it  as  shouldn't,  being  his  relative.  We 
will  go  down  to  Sydenham  oftener  this 
summer." 

Hilary  did  not  reply.  It  seemed  to  her  in 
the  worst  taste  to  be  discussing  one's  host  as 
soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight  and  hearing,  even 
if  he  were  a  relative. 

"  I  never  like  to  pronounce  an  opinion  after 
such  a  short  acquaintance,"  she  said  senten- 
tiously. 

"  Gracious !  you  ought  to  be  fifty,  you  are 
so  cautious,  my  dear  1 "  laughed  Mrs.  Pederson. 
"I  don't  pretend  to  be  a  person  of  great 
acumen,  but  I  can  sum  up  anyone  at  a  glance. 
It  does  not  take  me  two  minutes  to  discover 
whether  a  man  is  clever  and  a  perfect  gentle- 
man." 

Hilary  winced.  Mrs.  Pederson's  habit  of 
summing  up  her  acquaintances  as  "  perfect 
gentlemen"  or  "perfect  ladies"  always  jarred 
upon  her.  Her  own  category  did  not  include 
imperfect  specimens  of  the  type.  She  told 
herself,  howey.er,  that  it  was  altogether 


74  Mxs.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

absurd  to  take  exception  to  Aunt  Sophie's 
phrases.  She  meant  nothing  derogatory,  and  it 
was  only  fair  to  accept  her  motives  as  the 
standard  of  one's  judgment  of  her. 

"I  enjoyed  myself  immensely,"  she  said 
good-temperedly.  "  I'm  ever  so  much  obliged 
to  you  for  taking  me,  Aunt  Sophie." 

"Well,  it  is  something  to  be  thankful  for 
that  one  of  my  friends  comes  up  to  your 
standard,"  Mrs.  Pederson  replied,  with  a  shrug 
of  the  shoulders.  "  It  isn't  often  they  do,  if 
you  told  the  honest  truth." 

She  had  not  found  the  outing  suffi- 
ciently exciting  to  make  her  loquacious,  and 
soon  dropped  asleep  in  her  corner.  Hilary  was 
quite  content  to  be  silent,  though  not  for  the 
same  reason.  The  great  want  in  her  life  since 
she  left  Paris  had  been  someone  to  confide  in, 
someone  who  could  sympathise  with  her  girlish 
aspirations.  Madame  Brun,  despite  her  white 
hairs  and  her  wrinkled  cheeks,  was  a  girl  at  heart, 
and  had  been  confidante,  counsellor  and  friend 
to  her  favourite.  Hilary  soon  learned  that  she 
must  not  look  to  Aunt  Sophie  for  the  like  help 
and  sympathy  in  any  but  the  most  material 
needs.  Frances  might  have  been  a  comrade, 
but  she  had  neither  interest  nor  attention  for 


A  NEW  FRIEND.  75 

anything  outside  her  own  work.  To-day 
Hilary  felt  that  she  had  made  a  friend 
and  that  she  would  never  again  feel  quite 
alone. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING. 

FRANCES  came  round  to  Markham  Square  next 
day  after  luncheon.  Mrs.  Pederson  had  gone 
on  a  shopping  expedition  from  which  Hilary 
had  excused  herself  on  account  of  the  heat 

"It's  too  hot  to  spend  hours  in  a  jostling 
crowd,  buying  things  for  which  you  have  no 
earthly  use,"  she  said.  "  I'm  sure  it  was  good  of 
Aunt  Sophie  to  excuse  me  with  such  good  grace, 
for  she  hates  going  alone." 

"It  will  be  cooler  in  an  hour,"  Frances  said, 
taking  possession  of  her  mother's  armchair.  "  I 
have  managed  to  get  a  leisure  afternoon,  and  I 
want  you  to  come  down  to  Herne  Hill  with 
me  to  see  Mona  Smith.  She  has  not  been  at 
the  hospital  for  a  couple  of  days,  and  wild 
horses  would  not  keep  her  away  if  she  were 
not  too  ill  to  come." 

"I  should  like  to,  though  I  don't  know 
what  Aunt  Sophie  will  say  if  she  comes  home 
and  finds  me  away,"  Hilary  replied  dubiously. 

"We    shall    be    back    in    time    for    dinner," 


AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING.  77 

Frances  said  coolly.  "  I  could  not  possibly 
stay  longer,  for  Ursula  and  I  have  some  work 
to  do  this  evening.  If  I  don't  take  care  Ursula 
will  beat  me  all  along  the  line.  She  is  splendid 
at  some  things.  She  does  not  work  half  as 
hard  as  I  do  but  she  will  walk  through  the 
exams,  with  a  smile." 

"  Aren't  you  too  anxious,  Francie  ? "  Hilary 
said  quickly.  "You  are  too  hard  on  yourself; 
you  don't  give  your  poor  brain  a  chance  of 
resting.  Wouldn't  it  be  better  to  forget  the 
work  now  and  then  as  Ursula  does  ? " 

"  Forget !  You  little  silly  !  how  can  people 
forget  the  only  thing  in  the  world  that  they 
really  care  for  ?  "  Frances  shrugged  her  shoulders 
with  an  affectation  of  boredom  which  her 
flashing  eyes  and  quivering  lips  belied.  "You 
don't  know  all  that  hangs  on  this  exam. 
I  shall  never  have  nerve  to  try  again.  Some 
students  go  up  time  after  time,  but  I'm  not 
made  that  way.  If  I  fail,  I  shall  throw 
the  whole  business  up ;  and  then  where 
am  I  ?  What  am  I  going  to  do  with  my 
life?" 

Hilary  frowned.  "But  why  should  you 
throw  it  up  because  you  don't  pass  ?  You  can 
try  again  as  you  say  other  girls  do." 


78  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

Frances  moved  her  head  to  and  fro  on  the 
cushion  of  her  chair  restlessly. 

"  Of  course,  you  don't  understand,  and  I  could 
never  make  you,"  she  said.  "If  I  fail  I  shall 
never  have  nerve  to  try  again.  I  lie  awake  at 
nights  and  think  of  what  will  become  of  me  if 
I  don't  get  through,  till  I  feel  as  though  I  shall 
go  out  of  my  mind.  Of  course,  that  way  mad- 
ness lies,  but  I  can't  help  it." 

Hilary  looked  anxiously  at  her  cousin's  thin, 
worried  face.  She  was  years  younger  than 
Frances,  but  just  now  she  felt  immeasurably  older 
and  wiser.  She  knew  with  certainty  that  all 
this  fever  and  anxiety  were  laying  the  founda- 
tion for  the  failure  Frances  dreaded. 

"  Oh,  if  you  would  not  worry  so  much  1 " 
she  sighed.  "You  are  so  clever,  and  you  work 
so  hard,  Francie,  that  you  are  sure  to  pass. 
Promise  me  that  you  will  rest  more  and  think 
less  about  the  work." 

"Let  me  alone  this  afternoon,  Hilary, 
please,"  Frances  replied,  almost  angrily ;  "  I 
am  all  jarred  and  out  of  humour.  I  made  a 
mess  of  a  dissection  this  morning  through 
forgetting  a  mere  rudiment  that  a  beginner 
should  have  known.  Don't  mention  the 
Jaospital  to  me  to-day,  though  I  shall  have  to 


AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING.  79 

talk  to  Mona  Smith  about  it.  Thank  goodness ! 
here  comes  Mantle  with  some  tea.  Pour  me 
out  a  cup  and  tell  me  what  you  have  been 
doing  lately.  Remember,  I  have  not  seen  you 
for  a  fortnight,  time  enough  for  thrilling 
episodes." 

Hilary  laughed  as  she  handed  Frances  her 
cup. 

"Events  are  about  as  plentiful  as  your  visits, 
but  yesterday  was  a  red-letter  day.  We  went 
out  to  Sydenham  to  see  Cousin  Paul.  I'm 
inclined  to  quarrel  with  you,  Frances,  for 
keeping  his  existence  a  secret  so  long.  He  is 
quite  the  nicest  person  I  have  seen  since  I  left 
Madame  Brun." 

"  How  flattering  to  mother  and  me,"  laughed 
Frances.  "But  the  truth  is,  that  Cousin  Paul 
and  I  do  not  get  on  together,  and  in  that  case 
wisdom  lies  in  mutual  and  amicable  forgetfulness. 
He  is  as  old-fashioned  as  the  Major  was,  and 
my  choice  of  a  profession  raised  an  impassable 
barrier  between  us.  I  used  to  spend  a  lot  of 
time  once  at  Cousin  Paul's.  When  the  atmo- 
sphere at  home  got  electrical  I  always  ran 
away  to  Sydenham,  and  if  I  had  shown  the 
least  talent  for  art  he  would  have  adopted  me. 
As  it  is,  I  disappointed  him.  I'm  glad  you  have 


8o  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

made  friends  with  him,  Hilary,"  she  went  on  in 
a  softened  tone ;  "  there's  no  one  on  earth  I 
reverence  more  than  Cousin  Paul,  and  if  ever 
I  wanted  a  friend,  which  God  forfend,  I  would 
go  to  him  first  and  abide  by  his  counsel." 

"Yes,  I  feel  that  already,"  Hilary  replied 
quickly.  "  I  know  what  you  mean  by  his 
being  old-fashioned,  and  I  think  that  is  what 
makes  him  different  to  other  men  one  meets. 
He  does  not  like  to  think  of  a  girl  working  for 
her  living,  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  men, 
though  so  many  must  do  it.  He  believes  that 
some  man  should  work  for  her,  and  that  if  she 
is  in  any  trouble  it  is  a  man's  part  to  protect  her. 
It  may  be  old-fashioned,  but  it  is  a  nice  thing 
to  have  at  the  back  of  one's  mind,  particularly 
when  one  knows  that  all  men  have  not  the  same 
ideas."  She  was  thinking  of  Olivers  Smith  and 
the  different  impression  he  had  made  on  her 
mind.  It  was  his  opinion  that  a  woman  must 
take  care  of  herself,  and  that  if  she  be  a  little 
more  foolish  and  careless  than  others,  she 
must  expect  to  be  the  prey  of  the  more  clever 
and  wary. 

The  two  girls  took  an  omnibus  to  Victoria 
Station,  and  in  less  than  an  hour  found  them- 
selves at  Herne  Hill. 


AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING.  81 

Mona  Smith  lived  in  a  road  ot  small,  semi- 
detached houses,  climbing  ?a  suburban  street  not 
far  from  the  station,  somewhat  pretentiously 
named  Jamaican  Avenue.  The  house  itself  was 
neither  better  nor  worse  than  its  neighbours, 
but  it  lacked  the  individual  touch  of  colour  and 
decoration  which  lifted  many  from  an  aspect  of 
dreariness.  The  blinds  were  drawn  up  askew, 
and  dark  curtains  at  the  windows  bespoke  a 
desire,  at  all  costs,  to  avoid  labour. 

"It  looks  dingy,  but  the  Smiths  do  not 
bother  about  household  affairs,"  said  Frances, 
as  she  opened  the  gate.  "They  are  all  at  work 
except  the  children,  who  have  not  left  school. 
There's  an  elder  son,  but  he  comes  home  so 
seldom  that  he  never  seems  to  be  reckoned  as 
one  or  the  family.  By  the  way,  we  seem  to 
have  hit  on  one  01  these  festive  occasions,  for 
here  he  is." 

Hilary  looked  along  the  tiled  path,  and  her 
face  flushed  with  surprise  and  annoyance.  That, 
among  the  great  family  of  Smiths  with  its 
innumerable  branches,  Frances'  student  friend 
and  her  aunt's  "  man  of  business  "  should  belong 
to  the  same  had  never  occurred  to  her.  It 
was  Chivers  Smith,  who  came  down  the  path, 
lifting  his  hat  to  the  girls.  Hilary  passed  him 


82  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE, 

with  a  chilling  bow  and  followed  Frances  to 
the  door. 

A  diminutive  servant  ushered  the  girls  un- 
announced into  an  untidy  front  -  parlour,  which 
seemed  to  Hilary  unpleasantly  crowded  and  hot 
to  suffocation.  The  crowd  resolved  itself  into 
five  persons :  a  stout,  elderly  woman,  sitting  in 
a  low  chair,  reading  a  halfpenny  paper;  two 
schoolgirls  with  lank  hair  hanging  about  cross, 
tired  faces ;  a  sharp-featured,  freckled  little  boy, 
catching  flies  on  the  unshaded  window-pane ; 
and  the  invalid,  who  sat  huddled  in  a  corner 
of  the  sofa,  a  heavy  volume  of  physiology 
propped  against  her  knees. 

She  got  up  and  greeted  the  newcomers 
languidly,  introduced  them  to  the  assembled 
family,  and  explained  that  her  ailment  was  no- 
thing more  interesting  or  romantic  than  a  cold 
in  the  head. 

"It's  awfully  good  of  you  to  spare  the 
time  to  look  me  up,  Miss  Kemsing.  I  know 
you  are  tremendously  busy.  I'm  doing  all  I 
can  at  home,  but  it  seems  a  horrible  waste  of 
time  to  be  ill  just  now.  Mother,  it  would  be  nice 
of  you  if  you  would  bestir  yourself  to  get  some 
tea  for  Miss  Kemsing  and  her  friend.  It  is  no 
use  asking  Dagmar  or  Betty  to  go  and  urge 


AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING.  83 

Martha  on,  they  always  succeed  in  making  her 
more  slow  and  stupid  than  nature  intended  her 
to  be.  I  envy  you  sometimes,  Miss  Kemsing, 
living  in  lodgings  and  being  free  from  domestic 
worries." 

"  You  know  that  you  don't  envy  me  at  all  in 
your  heart,  my  dear  Mona,"  said  Frances,  with 
a  cheerfulness  which  she  firmly  believed  was 
the  best  clinical  manner.  "You  have  a  cold 
and  are  out  of  sorts.  When  you  are  well, 
you  think  mine  a  wretchedly  uncomfortable 
existence.  Please  don't  disturb  yourself,  Mrs. 
Smith.  We  cannot  stay  long,  and  we  would 
not  for  worlds  forestall  your  regular  hour  for 
tea." 

"  It's  no  trouble  at  all,  my  dear,"  responded 
Mrs.  Smith  graciously.  "We  are  plain  folks, 
but  we're  hospitable.  I'm  only  sorry  Smith 
won't  be  home,  for  he  is  keen  to  see  any  of 
Mona's  grand  hospital  friends.  Anyhow,  Chivers, 
my  eldest  son,  happens  to  be  home  to-day, 
and  he'll  do  the  honours.  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  he  brings  in  a  bit  of  ham  or  something  for 
tea.  There's  a  cookshop  close  to  the  post- 
office  where  he  has  gone  with  his  letters,  and 
he  always  likes  a  nice  tea  and  an  early  one. 
Chivers  is  quite  the  gentleman,"  she  explained 


84  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

confidentially.  "  He  dines  late,  so  naturally 
he  prefers  an  early  cup  of  tea." 

She  went  away  on  household  cares  intent, 
blissfully  unconscious  that  Mona  was  inwardly 
raging  at  her  revelations.  Mona  did  not  mind 
a  whit  the  poorness  or  plainness  of  her  home, 
but  since  her  life  had  brought  her  into  contact 
with  Frances  Kemsing,  Ursula  Grantham, 
and  many  like  them,  she  had  grown  ashamed 
of  its  disorder  and  vulgarity.  Unfortunately,  her 
revolt  as  yet  took  no  other  form  than  an  oc- 
casional and  captious  fault-finding,  which  did  no 
good  but  merely  vexed  her  relatives. 

She  put  her  domestic  trials  aside  now  and 
eagerly  questioned  Frances  about  the  lectures 
she  had  missed  through  her  absence  from  the 
hospital.  Hilary,  who  had  no  part  or  lot  in 
such  matters,  turned  to  the  two  schoolgirls, 
who  were  staring  at  her  with  manifest  interest. 
They  knew  that  nearly  all  her  life  had 
been  spent  with  Madame  Brun,  and  were 
anxious  to  hear  all  she  could  tell  them  about 
her  schooldays. 

"  Of  course,  Gertrude  tells  us  things,  but  if 
you  are  a  governess  you  cannot  see  things 
properly,"  said  Betty,  the  elder,  who  was  pre- 
paring for  matriculation  and  hoped  to  go  to 


AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING.  85 

Paris  as  soon  as  the  examination  was  over. 
"They  don't  know  half  the  fun  that  goes  on, 
and  wouldn't  understand  it  if  they  did.  Ger- 
trude and  Mona  lost  all  their  'go'  when  they 
took  up  a  profession,  but  Dagmar  and  I  don't 
,mean  to  follow  their  example  in  that  respect. 
We  are  going  to  work  like  demons,  but  we 
mean  to  have  a  good  time  all  the  same. 
Dag  is  going  to  Girton  if  she  gets  a  scholar- 
ship, but  I'm  to  have  a  couple  of  years  at 
Madame  Brun's  and  qualify  for  a  first-rate 
language  mistress.  Madame  is  going  to  take 
me  for  Gertrude's  services,  so  it  won't  cost  poor 
old  father  anything.  It  seems  rather  hard  on 
old  Gertie,  of  course,  but  it  was  her  proposition. 
She  would  not  take  '  No '  for  an  answer,  though 
we  all  said  it  was  not  fair  on  her." 

"Everything  that  is  good  for  one  person 
hits  someone  else  hard,"  Dagmar  said,  out  of 
her  deep  and  varied  experience  of  genteel 
poverty.  "But,  Miss  Pederson,  is  Madame 
Brun's  really  a  nice  school  ?  Gertrude  praises  it 
no  end,  though  she  says  it  is  rather  a  sleepy 
place,  with  nothing  about  it  to  rouse  one's 
ambitions." 

"  I  was  there  ten  years,  and  there  was 
not  an  unhappy  day  in  them  all,"  Hilary  said, 


86  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

speaking  gently,  as  she  always  did  when  her 
thoughts  turned  back  to  the  quaint  old  house 
in  the  quiet  Paris  suburb. 

"Tell  us  everything  you  can  remember," 
demanded  Betty. 

Hilary  laughed.  "That's too  large  an  order; 
I  could  not  fulfil  it  if  I  talked  till  midnight." 
She  was  in  the  full  tide  of  reminiscences  when 
the  door  opened  and  the  elder  son  of  the 
house  looked  in. 

Chivers  Smith   had    no    illusions    concerning 
his    sisters.    He    knew    they    were    clever    and 
hardworking  girls,  who  stood    by    one    another 
and  never    lost    sight    of   the    fact    that    their 
futures  depended  on  their  own  exertions.      He 
knew  also  that   he    could,    if  he    would,    save 
them  much  of  this  grinding  and  worrying,  but 
his  affection  was  not  of  the  kind    which    puts 
family  ties  before  self-interest.    He  told  himself 
that  he  had  his  own  goal  to  reach,  and   that 
he  had  had  to    struggle    at    the    beginning    as 
they  were  doing.    It  had  not  hurt  him,  and  it 
would  do  them  no  harm.    Yet  he  was  conscious 
of  a  difference  in  the  three  faces    which    bent 
towards    one    another    over    the    centre    table. 
He  told  himself  that  it  was  birth  and  breeding 
which  gave  Hilary's  sweet,  animated  face  some- 


AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING.  87 

thing  the  others  lacked;  but  he  was  wrong. 
She  alone  of  the  five  girls  lived  for  other 
things  than  her  own  advancement  and  her  pet 
interests.  The  light  of  a  wholesome,  buoyant 
spirit  shone  in  her  tender,  mirthful  eyes.  She 
was  happy  and  free  from  all  taint  of  depression 
because  a  life  of  self-renouncing  love  has  always 
been  a  life  of  liberty  from  carking  and  narrowing 
cares. 

Over  the  tea-table,  where  each  scrambled 
for  his  or  her  own  meal,  Chivers  Smith  en- 
deavoured, without  much  success,  to  further 
his  acquaintance  with  Hilary  and  Frances, 
The  elder  girl  had  always  disliked  him  and 
dreaded  his  influence  upon  her  mother,  whilst 
Hilary's  recollection  of  their  last  meeting  was 
too  vivid  for  her  to  feel  at  ease  in  his  presence. 
Both  were  glad  when  it  was  possible  to  say 
good-bye  to  Mona  and  her  sisters  and  leave 
the  house. 

"I  wish  we  had  not  gone  to-day,"  Frances 
said  discontentedly,  when  they  were  in  the 
train.  "It  is  the  way  I  am  usually  rewarded 
when  I  exercise  the  virtue  of  self-sacrifice. 
There  was  really  nothing  serious  the  matter 
with  Mona,  and  I  hated  to  have  you  meet 
that  brother  of  hers,  Hilary.  By  the  way,  I 


88  MRS.  PEDER SON'S  NIECE. 

saw  that  you  needed  no  introduction  to  him. 
Surely  mother  does  not  inscribe  him  on  her 
visiting  list  ?  " 

Hilary  shook  her  head.  "No,  he  comes  on 
business  now  and  then,  though,  perhaps,  I  ought 
not  to  have  mentioned  it.  Aunt  Sophie  dis- 
likes me  to  talk  of  her  business  affairs.  He 
saw  me  going  into  No.  10  one  day,  and  on 
the  strength  of  that,  imagined  that  we  were  ac- 
quainted. It  was  odious  of  him  to  try  to  talk 
to  me  about  Aunt  Sophie's  business,  but  I 
suppose  he  did  not  know  it  was  not  the  way  in 
our  world." 

"  No ;  perhaps  not,"  Frances  said  absently, 
looking  out  of  the  window  without  seeing  any 
of  the  drawbacks  to  the  dingy  little  houses 
past  which  the  train  was  whirling  her. 

She  was  wondering  whether  she  should  tell 
Hilary  why  she  disliked  Chivers  Smith  and 
feared  his  influence  over  her  mother.  She  re- 
membered that  once  he  had  been  responsible 
for  a  heavy  monetary  loss,  and  that  the  Major  had 
broken  off  all  business  connections  with  him  in 
a  summary  fashion.  He  had  also  enjoined  on 
Frances  to  keep  her  own  little  income  out  of 
Smith's  hands.  But  what  good  could  she  do 
by  raking  up  these  doings  in  the  past  ? 


AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING,  89 

Hilary's  money  was  safe,  and  it  was  not  likely 
that  Mrs.  Pederson  would  be  guided  by  her 
niece  in  anything  relating  to  her  own  affairs. 
Why  cast  a  shadow  of  possible  evil  on  the 
path  Hilary  was  treading  ?  It  had  its  diffi- 
culties already,  though  she  trod  it  with  radiant 
smiles  and  an  undaunted  courage. 

Frances  was  still  debating  the  point  when 
the  train  drew  up  at  the  platform  at  Holborn 
Viaduct  station.  The  opportunity  for  warning 
Hilary  was  gone.  It  was  too  late  now  to  speak. 
She  said  good-bye  to  her  cousin,  and  went  on 
her  way  to  Skone  Street  with  a  meditative 
frown  on  her  dark  little  face. 

"Well,  I  cannot  hinder  my  work  by  bother- 
ing about  other  people's  business,"  she  said, 
as  she  put  the  latchkey  in  the  lock  of  her 
own  door.  "  Mother  would  not  brook  my  inter- 
ference for  a  moment,  so  she  and  Chivers  Smith 
must  go  their  own  gait.  If  anything  seriously 
affects  Hilary,  she  shall  have  a  corner  of  my 
diggings,  and  glad  enough  I  shall  be  to  have 
her." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  STORM  BURSTS. 

SUMMER  slipped  into  autumn,  and  autumn  into 
winter,  each  with  its  widening  interests  and 
new  experiences  for  Hilary  Pederson. 

Looking  back,  she  seemed  to  see  a  great  gap 
between  the  girl  who  had  said  good-bye  so 
hopefully  to  Madame  Brun  in  the  dear  old 
French  school  and  the  Hilary  of  Markham 
Square.  The  months  had  left  their  mark  on 
the  frank,  girlish  face.  No  one  would  call 
Hilary  a  childish-looking  creature  for  her  years 
now,  as  Mrs.  Pederson  had  done  eight  months 
before.  Nothing  could  rob  her  of  her  buoyancy 
and  her  talent  for  finding  the  bright  and  the 
amusing  side  of  everything  that  happened.  The 
joyous  laugh  and  the  merry  word  were  as 
frequent  as  ever;  but  she  saw  sights  and  heard 
stories  now  which  would  have  been  meaningless 
to  her  before,  and  they  touched  her  to  the  heart. 
Her  character  had  strengthened ;  her  mental 
and  moral  fibre  had  become  finer  and  more 
tempered.  The  frank  acceptance  of  a  new  phase 


THE  STORM  BURSTS.  91 

of  life,  and  the  nerving  oneself  to  self-control  and 
kindly  endurance  of  much  that  goes  against  the 
grain,  cannot  help  having  a  fine  bracing  effect 
on  the  whole  nature. 

Hilary  found  herself  thrown  more  and  more 
on  her  own  resources  as  the  weeks  slipped 
away.  If,  at  first,  she  had  chafed  at  Aunt 
Sophie's  perpetual  call  upon  her  time,  she  could 
do  so  no  longer.  Mrs.  Pederson  was  more 
and  more  engrossed  in  interests  she  did  not  ask 
Hilary  to  share,  and  in  which  it  was  manifest 
the  girl's  participation  would  be  unwelcome. 

Hilary  went  often  to  Sydenham ;  scarcely 
a  week  passed  without  her  visiting  the  studio, 
and  it  was  evident  that  Mr.  Kemsing  found 
her  presence  no  hindrance  to  his  work.  He 
liked  to  listen  to  her  chatter  as  he  painted, 
and  in  these  summer  and  autumn  months  a 
close  friendship  was  cemented  which  was  to  be 
the  girl's  refuge  and  safeguard  in  the  dark  days 
she  had,  later,  to  face.  When  the  waves  of  a 
sea  of  perplexities  threatened  to  sweep  over 
her,  she  turned  confidently  to  the  old  man 
whose  wisdom  and  tolerance  she  had  tested  in 
the  days  of  sunshine  and  prosperity. 

She  had  other  interests  also  above  and 
beyond  her  friendship  with  Paul  Kemsing. 


92  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECB. 

Since  her  expedition  with  Ursula  Grantham  to 
Cross  Street  she  had  been  there  often,  some- 
times with  Ursula,  but  more  frequently  alone. 

A  sister  of  Ursula's,  the  widow  of  a  London 
clergyman,  had  taken  a  small  house  in  the  i 
squalid  little  street,  and  with  two  or  three  girl, 
friends  was  working  amongst  the  poor  in  a' 
quiet,  practical  way  which  fired  Hilary's  enthu- 
siasm. She  would  have  liked  to  join  them,  and 
hinted  as  much  to  Mrs.  Devon.  That  wise 
woman  gave  her  little  encouragement. 

"  My  dear,  your  duty  lies  in  Markham 
Square,"  she  said  frankly.  "It  you  ever  find 
yourself  without  ties  or  friends  who  need  you, 
we  will  talk  about  the  matter.  As  it  is,  you 
have  a  duty  to  your  aunt,  and  you  could  not 
expect  to  do  any  good  here  if  you  reached 
Cross  Street  through  the  gate  of  a  neglected 
duty.  Come  and  see  us  as  often  as  you  like,' 
but  nothing  more  for  the  present." 

In  the  early  spring  Hilary  persuaded  Mrs. 
Pederson  to  let  her  pay  Madame  Brun  a  visit. 
The  old  French  lady  had  been  ailing  all  the 
winter,  and  pined  for  a  sight  of  "her  child." 

Betty  Smith  travelled  to  Paris  with  her. 
Dagmar  had  won  her  scholarship  and  gone  to 
Girton,  and  Betty  had  herself  been  fortunate  in 


THE  STORM  BURSTS.  93 

gaming  a  "Local,"  and  was  jubilant  at  the 
thought  of  being  able  to  hand  back  to  her 
elder  sister  some  of  the  diverted  salary. 

"  It  was  hateful  to  think  of  her  giving  up  all 
for  me,  so  I  was  bound  to  work  hard  and 
try  to  get  something,"  she  told  Hilary.  "I 
shall  find  a  good  post  when  I  leave  Paris,  and 
then  I'll  make  it  up  to  the  dear  old  girl." 

"  You  are  very  fond  of  Miss  Smith  ? " 
Hilary  said,  remembering  that  she  had  once 
thought  the  second  English  mistress  was 
scarcely  a  girl  to  inspire  affection  and  that 
her  own  liking  for  her  had  been  decidedly 
tepid. 

Betty  stared. 

"She  is  my  sister,"  she  replied  coolly. 
"It's  easy  to  see  that  you  have  never  had 
any  folks  of  your  own.  Sisters  always  stick 
together,  however  much  they  may  squabble  in 
private.  Some  people  say  brothers  do  too,  but 
I  don't  know  anything  about  that.  Chivers 
has  never  lived  at  home  since  I  can  remember, 
and  though  he  might  have  done  a  lot  for  us, 
he  has  never  troubled  himself.  We  all  think 
him  abominably  selfish,  though  mother  sticks  up 
for  him,  I  say  that  he  is  selfish  to  the  core, 
and  I  should  be  sorry  for  anyone  whose 


94  MRS.  PEDERSON  s  NIECE. 

interests  clashed  with  his.  They  would  certainly 
go  the  wall." 

Hilary  looked  troubled,  and  made  haste  to 
change  the  subject.  Nevertheless,  she  could 
not  wholly  forget  Betty  Smith's  outspoken 
criticisms,  and  they  made  her  vaguely  uneasy. 

Mrs.  Pederson's  "man  of  business"  had 
been  more  often  in  Markham  Square  than  ever 
of  late,  and  Hilary  could  not  help  attributing 
her  aunt's  worried  expression  and  her  fitfulness 
of  temper  to  the  frequency  of  these  visits. 

It  was  useless  to  take  Frances  into  her 
confidence.  Frances  said  plainly  that  she  did 
not  wish  to  be  bothered  with  anyone's  troubles 
and  trials  until  her  own  were  past. 

Hilary  blamed  herself  because  she  could 
not  help  feeling  glad  to  be  away  from  Markham 
Square  for  a  few  weeks.  She  hated  problems 
and  complications,  and  thought  with  relief  that 
none  would  vex  her  while  she  was  under 
Madame  Brim's  roof. 

She  was  welcomed  like  a  child  of  the  house, 
and  settled  down  into  her  old  niche  as  though 
she  had  never  left  it.  She  had  only  three 
short  weeks  to  spend  in  Paris,  but  during  that 
time  she  meant  to  forget  that  she  was  no 
longer  the  happy,  irresponsible  schoolgirl. 


THE  STORM  BURSTS.  95 

Madame  Brun  soon  knew  all  there  was  to 
tell  about  her  darling's  life  in  London,  and 
guessed  much  that  Hilary  did  not  put  into 
words.  It  was  not  the  life  she  would  have 
chosen  for  her  but  she  had  faith  in  the  girl's 
power  to  walk  amidst  its  dangers  and  tempta- 
tions, and  to  resist  its  tendency  to  lower  and 
limit  her  aspirations  and  ambitions.  She 
believed  that  Hilary  would  be  equal  to  all 
the  claims  upon  her,  the  smallest  and  most 
exasperating  no  less  than  the  larger  and  more 
impressive. 

The  girl  made  the  most  of  her  holiday. 
She  wandered  about  the  city,  with  old  Marie, 
Madame's  factotum,  as  a  chaperone,  as  she  had 
not  been  allowed  to  do  in  former  days.  Though 
she  had  crept  into  her  old  place  in  the  house, 
Madame  did  not  forget  that  she  was  no  longer 
the  schoolgirl,  and  gave  her  a  liberty  she  had 
not  enjoyed  before.  Sometimes  she  sat  for 
hours  in  the  window  of  the  little  room,  which 
had  been  given  up  again  to  her  use,  the  little 
room  which  had  always  been  a  haven  of  peace, 
the  quietest  nook  in  the  busy  house.  Here  all 
her  battles  had  been  fought,  all  her  vexations 
adjusted  to  the  line  of  life,  all  her  joys  tasted 
to  the  full.  The  old  life  had  never  seemed 


96  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NJECB. 

so  sweet  and  wholesome  as  it  did  when  Hilary 
sat  dreamily  looking  down  into  the  old-fashioned 
garden. 

Nature  had  not  yet  awakened  from  her 
winter  sleep,  and  the  garden  was  bare  and 
brown.  In  another  month  it  would  don  its 
garment  of  spring  greenery,  and  look  much  as 
it  had  done  on  the  day  the  girl  said  good-bye 
to  it.  She  sighed  a  little  as  she  recalled  the 
small,  dull  garden  in  the  square,  with  its  groups 
of  stunted  shrubs  which  so  soon  lost  their 
freshness.  The  fascination  ol  our  great  city  had 
not  yet  touched  Hilary.  She  regarded  it  still 
with  the  eyes  of  a  country-bred  girl,  and  had 
no  one  to  show  her  its  historical  interest,  its 
peculiar  charm  and  its  secret  beauty. 

Years  after,  one  who  would  never  see  again 
what  he  revealed  to  Hilary,  lifted  the  veil  for 
her,  and  she  saw  the  most  wonderful  city  in 
the  world  with  different  eyes.  In  her  girlish 
ignorance  she  had  pronounced  it  cruel,  ugly,  and 
dismal;  he  taught  her  to  dream  of  ancient 
days  in  the  cloisters  of  the  Abbey,  or  in  the 
seclusion  of  hidden  courts  and  inns;  to  wander 
in  historic  places,  to  watch  for  wonders  of 
light  and  shade  on  the  riverside  houses,  and  to 
love  the  great  waterway  with  its  burden  of 


THE  STORM  BURSTS.  97 

mysterious  freight.  These  things  were  still  un- 
known to  Hilary,  and  she  compared  Paris  to 
her  native  city  with  scant  appreciation  of  the 
latter. 

A  letter  from  Markham  Square  suddenly 
cut  Hilary's  holiday  short. 

Miss  Smith  was  the  bearer  of  the  undesired 
missive.  She  brought  it  into  Hilary's  room  one 
morning  as  the  girl  was  putting  on  her  hat  and 
coat  to  accompany  Marie  on  a  marketing 
expedition. 

"A  letter  for  you,  Hilary,"  she  said,  tossing 
it  on  the  table  and  turning  away. 

Miss  Smith  had  shown  little  friendship  for 
Hilary  since  she  came  to  Paris  and  was 
manifestly  jealous  of  Betty's  violent  attachment 
to  her. 

Hilary  took  up  the  letter  and  glanced  at 
the  address.  It  was  written  in  a  laboured,  un- 
formed hand  which  recalled  none  of  her  few 
acquaintances  in  London.  She  broke  the 
envelope  and  drew  out  its  contents. 

The  epistle  proved  to  be  from  Mantle,  and 
Hilary's  face  grew  grave  as  she  read.  Then  she 
laid  the  sheets  on  her  knee  and  considered  the 
news  they  contained. 

Mrs.    Pederson    was   ill,    "clean  demented" 


98  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECB. 

was  the  maid's  description  of  her  mistress's 
condition,  and  though  it  seemed  absolutely 
essential  she  should  see  a  doctor,  she  refused  to 
have  one  called  in.  All  the  servants  except 
Mantle  had  been  sent  away,  and  Mrs.  Pederson 
had  taken  to  her  bed,  forbidding  anyone  to 
send  for  Frances  or  let  her  know  what  was 
happening. 

"It  is  evident  that  poor  Mantle  is  at  her 
wit's  end  and  must  have  some  help,"  Hilary 
said  aloud,  as  she  went  downstairs  to  find 
Madame  Brun.  "She  does  not  like  to  ask  me 
to  come  home,  but  it  is  what  she  really  wants 
me  to  do." 

Madame  looked  grave  when  Hilary  explained 
the  situation. 

"It  seems  a  pity  to  shorten  your  holiday, 
chtrie,  but  I  think  you  ought  to  go,"  she  said. 
"  Let  us  hope  you  will  find  things  not  so  bad 
as  that  alarming  letter  would  lead  one  to  fear. 
The  poor  maid  is  evidently  greatly  overwrought.  ' 

Hilary  nodded.  "And  that  is  so  unlike 
Mantle.  Under  the  most  exciting  circumstances 
she  usually  shows  as  much  emotion  as  the 
Rock  of  Gibraltar.  Yes,  I  must  certainly  go 
to  the  rescue  as  quickly  as  train  and  steamer 
will  take  me. " 


THE  STORM  BURSTS.  99 

Hilary  reached  Dover  at  daybreak,  took 
the  next  train  to  town,  and  drove  straight  to 
Markham  Square.  The  dull  rows  of  houses, 
which  never  rose  to  the  day's  duties  with  any 
demonstration  of  haste,  were  still  shuttered 
as  the  girl  ran  up  the  familiar  steps  of  No.  10 
and  rang  the  bell. 

Mantle  was  astir,  for  she  could  be  heard, 
without  any  delay,  crossing  the  hall  and 
fumbling  at  the  lock  of  the  entrance-door. 

"  Good  gracious !  Miss  Hilary,  what  a 
time  of  day  for  you  to  be  out ;  and  I'll  be 
bound  you  have  been  travelling  all  night  1 " 
she  cried.  "I'm  right  glad  to  see  you,  though. 
Come  in,  and  I'll  get  you  some  breakfast  at 
once." 

Hilary  laughed.  "I  travelled  all  night  and 
I  own  to  being  famished,"  she  said,  as  she 
opened  the  door  of  the  dining-room.  The 
blinds  had  been  drawn  up,  and  in  the  chill 
morning  light  she  could  see  the  dust  lying  thick 
on  the  furniture.  Everything  wore  that  look 
of  forlornness  an  apartment  always  takes  on 
when  it  has  not  been  used  for  days.  In  the 
grate  there  were  still  the  cinders  of  a 
dead  fire,  and  a  litter  of  torn  paper  lay  in 
the  fender. 


ioo  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECB. 

"  How  dreary  arid  depressing  1 "  she  cried, 
shivering.  "  I'll  come  down  to  the  kitchen  and 
have  my  breakfast  by  your  fire,  Mantle.  I 
shall  get  the  blues  if  I  stay  up  here  by  myself. 
Whilst  you  are  boiling  the  kettle  you  can  tell 
me  about  Aunt  Sophie's  illness.  Your  letter ' 
alarmed  me  awfully." 

"You  won't  find  the  place  fit  to  sit  down 
in,  Miss  Hilary,"  Mantle  said,  leading  the  way 
to  the  basement.  "I  have  had  my  hands  too 
full  to  keep  any  one  spot  clean  and  neat  as 
the  mistress  likes  it.  But  there,  she  can  blame 
no  one  but  herself.  She  it  was  sent  off  Eliza 
and  cook  at  a  moment's  notice,  and  without 
giving  a  word  of  reason  1 "  Mantle  tossed  her 
head,  and  swept  to  and  fro  with  worry  and 
indignation  in  every  line  of  her  angular  figure. 

"What  do  you  think  really  ails  Aunt 
Sophie  ?  "  Hilary  asked  anxiously. 

Mantle  paused  in  the  act  of  lifting  the 
kettle  from  the  fire  and  looked  at  the  girl 
significantly.  , 

"  If  you  ask  my  candid  opinion,  knowing 
mistress  as  well  as  anyone  can  know  her, 
and  in  strict  confidence  between  you  and 
me,  Miss  Hilary,  there  ain't  anything  the 
matter  with  her  at  all.  She's  just  sulking. 


THE  STORM  BURSTS.  101 

Somebody  has  done  her  an  injury,  and  she  is 
sick  with  vexation.  All  she'll  say  is  that  she's 
a  badly  injured  woman,  and  there's  them  as 
ought  to  be  punished  for  what  they've  brought 
on  her,  but  ask  her  a  question  I  dare  not.  She 
gets  heaps  of  letters,  but  she  tosses  them  un- 
opened into  the  grate.  You'll  see  a  pile  of 
them  when  you  go  up,  for  she  won't  have 
them  touched.  Maybe  she  will  tell  you  all 
about  it,  though  it's  plain  she  isn't  going  to  let 
Miss  Frances  know  anything." 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Pederson's  voice  was 
heard  calling  shrilly  for  Mantle,  and  demanding 
to  know  who  was  in  the  house  and  why  her 
chocolate  was  delayed. 

"Pour  it  out,  Mantle,  and  I  will  carry  it 
up,"  Hilary  said.  "She  will  be  so  surprised  to 
see  me  that  she  may  tell  me  her  troubles  on. 
the  spur  of  the  moment." 

"  I  wish  she  may,"  Mantle  responded  grimly. 
"For  a  lady  with  a  tongue  as  long  as  the 
mistress,  she  can  keep  a  secret  uncommonly 
well  when  she  likes." 

Hilary  threw  off  her  hat  and  coat  and 
made  her  way  upstairs  with  the  little  tray 
Mantle  had  prepared. 

There    was   no    mistaking   Mrs.    Pederson's 


IO2  MRS.  PEDER SON'S  NIECE. 

surprise  when  Hilary  opened  the  door  and 
stepped  into  the  room.  She  lifted  herself  upon 
her  elbow  and  stared  at  her  with  astonishment 
not  unmixed  with  annoyance. 

"  So  it  was  your  cab  that  I  heard  ! "  she 
exclaimed  sharply.  "What  has  brought  you 
back  in  this  hurry  ?  Have  you  quarrelled  with 
your  wonderful  Madame  Bran,  or  has  she  tired 
of  you?" 

"Neither,"  said  Hilary,  laughing.  "But  it 
was  clearly  time  I  returned.  You  have  taken 
wretched  care  of  yourself,  Aunt  Sophie,  and 
need  someone  to  look  after  you.  I  am  going 
to  nurse  you  back  to  health.  Mantle  says 
you  have  not  been  out  of  your  room  for  ten 
days." 

"Mantle  always  chatters,"  grumbled  the 
invalid,  settling  herself  back  on  her  pillows  and 
occupying  herself  with  the  tray  Hilary  placed 
before  her.  She  had  aged  wonderfully  in  the 
three  weeks  since  Hilary  had  left  her.  There 
were  fresh  lines  on  her  forehead  and  about  her 
mouth,  and  her  eyes  had  a  tired,  worried 
expression.  Now  and  then  she  cast  a  keen, 
suspicious  glance  at  her  niece,  as  though  she 
would  have  liked  to  ask  how  much  Mantle 
had  told  her,  and  what  she  knew  of  the 


THE  STORM  BURSTS.  103 

circumstances  it  had  been  Mrs.  Pederson's 
endeavour  hitherto  to  conceal. 

"Now,  tell  me  what  brought  you  back, 
Hilary,"  she  said  at  length. 

Hilary  hesitated.  "I  heard  that  you  were 
ill,  Aunt  Sophie/'  she  said  gently. 

Mrs.  Pederson  frowned.  "  That  was 
meddling  Mantle !  She  shall  leave  as  soon  as 
I  get  about  again.  There  is  nothing  the  matter 
with  me,  Hilary — nothing." 

"My  dear  aunt,  what  an  incomprehensible 
statement  when  I  find  you  in  bed  and  hear  you 
have  not  left  it  for  ten  days  ! "  Hilary  replied 
with  the  ghost  of  a  smile.  "  You  cannot  expect 
me  to  think  you  are  well." 

Mrs.  Pederson  laughed  hysterically,  and 
then  burst  into  a  storm  of  sobs  and  tears. 

"  Yes,  I  am  ill,  ill  in  mind  if  not  in  body," 
she  gasped.  "  I'm  a  ruined  woman,  Hilary — ruined, 
robbed,  without  a  penny  in  the  world.  I  have 
lost  everything,  so  that  swindler  tells  me, 
though  he  may  be  lying  about  that  as  he  has 
done  about  everything  else." 

Hilary  looked  startled.  "  I  don't  understand, 
Aunt  Sophie." 

Mrs.  Pederson  moved  irritably  on  the 
pillows. 


IO4  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

"Gracious!  Surely  I  am  lucid  enough.  It 
does  not  take  much  sense  to  grasp  the  fact  that 
when  you  have  lost  all  your  money  you  are  just 
ruined,  and  that  there  is  nothing  but  the  work- 
house for  you.  These  lawyers  ought  to  be 
punished  when  they  deceive  poor  widows  with 
their  lying  reports  and  their  grand  promises. 
What  is  the  use  of  a  man  of  business  if  you 
cannot  trust  him  and  follow  his  advice  in  the 
investing  of  your  money  ?  " 

"Oh,  Aunt  Sophie,  has  Chivers  Smith  done 
this  ? "  exclaimed  Hilary.  "  Frances  was 
always  afraid  of  him." 

"Yes,  and  you  were  never  a  friend  to  him 
either.  You  can  both  laugh  finely  at  me  now. 
It  will  be  a  joke  that  will  last  you  a  lifetime. 
But  go  away  and  send  Mantle  to  me.  It 
worries  me  to  have  you  sit  there,  looking  as 
though  I  were  a  lost  soul  because  I  happen  to 
have  made  some  unlucky  investments,  and 
trusted  a  man  who  turns  out  to  be  a  mere 
swindler." 

Hilary  got  up  and  went  away,  feeling 
helpless  in  a  crisis  in  which  she  had  no  past 
experience  to  guide  her.  She  wandered  about 
the  house  in  a  state  of  conscious  and  miserable 
superfluousness,  until  she  made  up  her  mind 


THE  STORM  BURSTS.  105 

to  write  later  in  the  day  to  Mr.  Kemsing  and 
beg  him  to  come  and  see  Aunt  Sophie.  Now 
she  would  go  and  find  Frances.  The  student 
might  be  too  much  taken  up  with  her  work  for 
ordinary  calls  upon  her,  but  this  was  something 
she  ought  to  know  and  to  which  it  was 
essential  she  should  give  her  help  and  advice. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

FRANCES  REFUSES  TO  INTERFERE. 

FRANCES  had  not  returned  from  the  hospital 
when  Hilary  reached  Skone  Street.  Knowing 
that  it  was  a  little  before  her  usual  time, 
Hilary  sat  down  to  wait  for  her.  She  came 
in  about  twenty  minutes  later,  looking  cross 
and  tired,  though  her  face  brightened  when  she 
caught  sight  of  her  visitor. 

"My  dear  Hilary,  I  thought  you  were  in 
Paris  1 "  she  exclaimed,  tossing  an  armful  of 
books  on  the  table  and  shaking  hands  in  her 
usual  boyish  fashion.  "  Ursula  has  gone  to 
Brighton  for  a  couple  of  days,  so  I  expected 
to  find  an  empty  room." 

She  threw  herself  full  length  on  the  lounge 
and  stretched  her  arms  with  a  wearied  gesture. 
The  sun  from  the  unshaded  window  fell  full 
on  her  small,  dark  face,  and  Hilary  saw  that 
it  was  thinner  and  whiter,  and  that  there  were 
purple  lines  under  the  restless  eyes. 

"  I'm  getting  on  awfully  well  with  my  lec- 
tures just  now,"  Frances  went  on,  in  a  quick, 


FRANCES  REFUSES  TO  INTERFERE.       107 

excited  way.  "You  are  not  a  student,  Hilary, 
or  you  would  know  how  glorious  it  feels  to 
be  in  thorough  working  trim,  to  be  able  to 
grasp  things  easily,  to  feel  you  are  just  all 
brain  and  nothing  is  too  difficult  for  you  to  tackle. 
I  hate  to  seem  cocksure,  but  there  does  not  seem 
the  least  reason  why  I  should  not  do  splendidly 
in  the  finals,  even  if  I  don't  take  honours. 
In  another  six  months  you  will  be  able  to 
congratulate  me  on  being  thoroughly  qualified, 
I  hope." 

Hilary  regarded  her  seriously. 

"I  am  glad  you  are  so  happy  in  your  work, 
Francie,  though  you  look  awfully  strained.  I 
hate  to  worry  you  about  other  things." 

"Do  not  do  it,  I  beg,"  Frances  said, 
emphatically.  "I  warn  you  that  I  have 
not  a  figment  of  interest  in  anyone  but 
myself,  and  an  earthquake  would  only 
seem  a  temporary  disarrangement  of  my  be- 
longings." 

"But  you  must  detach  yourself  a  little," 
urged  Hilary.  "Aunt  Sophie  is  ill,  Frances." 

"  Send  for  a  doctor,  my  dear ;  I  am  not 
qualified  to  practise  yet,  however  much  I  may 
know  of  disease  theoretically." 

"Please  be  serious,  Frances.     I  want  you  to 


io8  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

come  to  Markham  Square.  Aunt  Sophie  is  ill 
in  mind  and  body,  and  I  cannot  bear  all  the 
burden  of  her  trouble.  It  is  heavy,  I  am  sure, 
and  I  believe  it  is  a  money  trouble." 

Frances  sat  up,  and  her  black  brows  met  in 
a  frown. 

"A  money  trouble  !  What  on  earth  do  you 
mean,  Hilary  ?  " 

Hilary  hesitated.  "From  what  Aunt  Sophie 
says,  she  has  lost  everything.  She  has  made 
bad  investments,  and  accuses  Chivers  Smith  of 
ruining  her." 

"  That's  sheer  nonsense.  She  has  nine  hundred 
a  year  in  her  own  right.  She  would  never 
touch  the  capital,  though,  of  course,  she  has  the 
power  to  do  so." 

She  crossed  the  room,  and,  with  one  hand 
on  the  mantelshelf,  stood  looking  down  into  the 
empty  grate. 

Though  she  denied  the  possibility  of  her 
mother's  being  ruined  with  nine  hundred  a  year 
at  her  back,  she  did  not  feel  so  confident  of 
her  solvency.  Ever  since  she  could  remember, 
her  mother's  passion  for  dabbling  in  speculation 
had  been  a  source  of  danger  and  of  family  dis- 
cord. When  the  Major  was  alive  he  had  held 
the  reins  tightly,  and  Frances  knew  that  his 


FRANCES  REFUSES  TO  INTERFERE.      109 

legacy  to  Hilary,  with  its  condition,  had  really 
been  one  of  his  plans  for  safeguarding  his 
wife  from  actually  beggaring  herself.  If  all 
else  went,  there  was  still  a  little  she  could 
neither  squander  nor  throw  away  in  wild 
speculation. 

"  If  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  you  have 
your  own  income,  Hilary,"  said  Frances  in  a 
hard  tone.  "Every  family  has  its  skeleton  in 
the  cupboard,  I  suppose.  I  wonder  if  you  have 
guessed  that  ours  is  the  mater's  mania  for  dabbling 
in  stocks  and  shares  and  business  of  which  she 
knows  as  much  as  you  or  I  do.  All  the  women 
of  our  family  are  born  gamblers.  My  grand- 
mother has  told  me  that  when  she  was  a  girl 
she  regularly  doubled  or  lost  her  income  the 
day  after  she  received  it.  Card-playing  was 
the  fashionable  vice  in  her  day,  you  know. 
Mother  has  few  opportunities  for  indulging  in 
that  direction,  and  in  her  the  passion  takes  the 
form  of  dabbling  in  speculation,  with  Chivers 
Smith  to  egg  her  on.  Sometimes  I  have  thought 
my  own  keenness  for  work  was  only  the  spirit 
of  gambling  in  disguise.  I  don't  care  about  the 
future  as  Ursula  does ;  I  scarcely  ever  think 
of  it  To  me  success  in  the  exams,  is  the  goal 
I  would  sell  the  gown  off  my  back,  de- 


no  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

nounce  my  dearest  friend,  or  risk  life  itself  to 
win." 

Hilary  listened  with  a  bewildered  expression 
on  her  young  face.  She  knew  so  little  of  life, 
and  nothing  of  its  seamy  side.  What  had 
been  mysterious  and  alien  in  her  life  at 
No.  10  she  had  resolutely  put  from  her, 
refusing  to  dwell  on  what  she  could  not 
understand. 

There  flashed  before  her  mind,  as  she  listened 
to  Frances,  a  remembrance  of  Mrs.  Pederson's 
passion  for  cards,  her  shrill  excitement  over 
the  most  childish  games,  her  eagerness  when 
the  stakes  were  merely  chocolates.  That, 
then,  was  the  stuff  of  which  gamblers  were 
made :  she  knew  now  why  it  had  always 
repelled  her. 

"I  can't  believe  it,"  she  said  slowly. 

Frances  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Disbelief 
does  not  alter  facts,"  she  said  coolly. 

"I  have  written  to  Cousin  Paul  to  come 
and  see  Aunt  Sophie,"  Hilary  said. 

Frances  nodded.  "You  could  not  do  better 
than  follow  his  advice,  though  he  is  the  most 
unworldly-wise  of  men.  Let  me  know  what 
he  thinks  of  the  business,  and  what  mother  is 
going  to  do." 


FRANCES  REFUSES  TO  INTERFERE.       in 

"But,  Frances,  you  are  coming  to  Markham 
Square  to  see  her  ?  " 

"  My  good  child,  how  can  you  ask  me  ?  I 
can't  mix  myself  up  in  the  business.  I  have 
not  time  or  attention  to  give  at  this  stage. 
Mother  must  get  out  of  her  own  muddles : 
if  she  had  taken  my  advice  she  would  never 
have  got  into  them.  You  are  all  right,  for 
your  ninety  pounds  is  safely  invested  and  no 
one  can  touch  it.  You  had  better  come  and 
live  with  me." 

"  It  is  only  mine  so  long  as  I  live  with 
Aunt  Sophie,"  Hilary  said  thoughtfully. 

"Of  course,  I  forgot,"  exclaimed  Frances. 
"That  was  the  Major's  last  effort  to  protect 
poor  mother  from  herself.  It  is  rather  hard  on 
you,  Hilary,  but  it  relieves  me  a  good  deal. 
You  are  bound  to  stay  with  mother,  and  I  can 
trust  you  to  look  after  her.  I  must  say  it 
would  have  been  annoying  if  you  had  taken 
your  money  and  gone  off  to  Paris,  though  it 
is  what  I  should  have  done  myself,  I  dare- 
say." 

Hilary  looked  at  her  cousin  curiously.  She 
felt  that  whatever  help  and  sympathy  she 
and  Aunt  Sophie  needed,  they  must  not  look 
to  Frances  to  give  it.  Self  had  gradually 


112  MRS.   P ED ER SON'S  NlECB. 

wrapped  the  girl  about  till  it  was  beyond  her 
power  to  care  much  for  others.  She  could  not 
give  even  a  casual  and  perfunctory  attention 
to  any  claims  outside  the  radius  of  self- 
interest. 

"But  won't  you  come  home  with  me  now 
and  see  Aunt  Sophie  ? "  Hilary  said  wist- 
fully. 

Frances  bent  over  her  books  and  the  colour 
dyed  her  cheeks. 

"No,  better  not,"  she  said,  with  an  odd 
roughness  in  her  voice.  "She  would  not  care 
to  see  me.  I  should  only  rub  her  up  the 
wrong  way." 

"  Oh,  Francie,  when  she  is  in  trouble !    Your 
own  mother  1 " 

Hilary's  eyes  shone  and  her  lip  quivered. 
She  could  not  recollect  her  own  mother,  and 
had  only  the  merest  scraps  of  knowledge  con- 
cerning her,  but  she  could  imagine  no  claim  of 
work  or  intellect,  no  depth  of  estrangement, 
which  would  have  kept  her  from  her  side  in 
sickness  and  trouble.  When  clouds  gathered, 
it  was  surely  the  time  to  strengthen  and  draw 
closer  the  ties  of  blood  and  affection. 

Prances  was  staring  out  on  the  forest  of 
chimneys  outlined  against  the  grey  March  sky. 


FRANCES  REFUSES  TO  INTERFERE.      113 

She  felt  sore  and  angry :  with  Hilary,  because 
she  saw  that  the  younger  girl  was  judging  her 
by  her  own  altruistic  standard;  with  her 
mother,  that  she  should  have  brought  this  dis- 
turbing element  into  her  life ;  with  herself,  for 
a  score  of  reasons  she  preferred  not  to  define 
too  accurately. 

The  opinion  of  others  had  never  weighed 
much  with  Frances  Kemsing.  She  had  prided 
herself  on  being  a  law  unto  herself  and  beat- 
ing out  her  own  path  in  life.  Now  she  was 
conscious  of  a  sense  of  irritation  at  being 
weighed  in  someone's  balance  and  found  want- 
ing. Judged  by  Hilary's  standard,  she  was 
marked  "tekel,"  found  lacking. 

Yet  how  impossible  to  explain  to  Hilary 
the  gradual  estrangement  which  made  it  im- 
possible for  her  to  feel  that  her  mother  either 
needed  or  desired  her  presence  at  this  crisis 
in  her  fortunes.  Relationship  is  a  great  oppor- 
tunity for  affection,  not  a  compelling  force. 
From  the  first,  neither  Mrs.  Pederson  nor 
Frances  had  cultivated  that  natural  affection 
which  exists  in  a  child's  earliest  years.  Little 
differences  had  been  the  germ  of  endless 
bickerings,  and  Self  had  been  allowed  to  intrude 
perpetually.  Frances,  from  the  time  she  came 


114  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECB. 

back,  a  girl  of  sixteen,  from  a  German  school, 
had  never  been  particularly  dear  to  her 
mother.  She  came  as  a  disturbing  element  in 
a  life  which  had  been  long  regulated  with- 
out regard  to  her  existence.  She  was  difficult 
to  manage,  wilful,  and  opinionated.  She  was 
unmistakably  clever,  but  when  Mrs.  Pederson 
heard  that  brilliant  things  might  be  expected 
of  her,  she  metaphorically  wrung  her  hands. 
She  disliked  clever  women.  They  never  married, 
and  they  always  made  her  feel  at  a  dis- 
advantage. She  was  good-hearted,  however,  and 
fond  of  the  girl  in  her  own  way.  She  received 
her  with  open  arms  and  determined  to  make 
the  best  of  her. 

Frances,  certainly,  did  nothing  to  make  this 
easy  for  her  mother.  She  had  a  sharp  tongue 
and  liked  to  say  biting  things;  she  had,  more- 
over, keen  eyes,  and  every  detail  of  her  mother's 
daily  doings  passed  through  the  crucible  of  her 
merciless  criticism.  Looking  back  in  after  years, 
Frances  confessed  that  she  must  have  been 
difficult  to  deal  with,  and  singularly  trying  to 
a  woman  of  Mrs.  Pederson's  character  and 
temperament.  She  could  readily  believe  that, 
when  she  announced  her  determination  to 
become  a  lady  doctor  and  took  herself  and 


FRANCES  REFUSES  TO  INTERFERE.      115 

her  belongings  to  Skone  Street,  her  mother's 
lamentations  were  tempered  by  a  sense  of 
relief.  Since  that  day,  mother  and  daughter 
had  seen  little  of  each  other,  and  though  the 
estrangement  remained,  the  bitterness  had  almost 
died  out  of  the  hearts  of  both.  Frances, 
at  this  moment,  wished  heartily  that  she  could 
go  to  her  mother,  sure  that  her  presence  would 
be  welcome  and  her  help  desired.  Yet  no 
one  knew  better  that  you  cannot  tear  down 
in  a  moment  what  years  have  laboriously 
built  up. 

"I'll  come  if  I  can  by-and-bye,  Hilary,"  she 
said,  over  her  shoulder.  "You  may  tell  mother 
so  if  she  inquires." 

Early  next  morning,  in  response  to  Hilary's 
letter,  Mr.  Kemsing  came  to  Markham  Square. 

Hilary  was  watering  the  ferns  in  the 
drawing-room  when  he  was  announced,  and  she 
came  forward  to  greet  him  with  a  grateful 
smile. 

"How  good  of  you  to  come  so  soon, 
Cousin  Paul  I "  she  said,  holding  out  her  hands. 
"I  will  go  and  tell  Aunt  Sophie  you  are 
here." 

"No,  wait  a  bitT  \  want  to  hear  all  you 
know  of  tin's,  troublesome  business  first,"  Mr. 


u6  MRS.  PEDERSON' s  NIECE. 

Kemsing  said.  "I  never  can  make  head  or  tail 
of  Sophie's  incoherent  stories." 

Hilary  told  him  all  she  had  gathered  from 
Frances  and  Mantle,  and  the  sum  total  agreed 
exactly  with  what  the  artist  knew  of  the  past. 

"The  best  thing  for  me  to  do  will  be  to 
go  into  the  City  and  see  this  man  to  whom 
Sophie  attributes  her  losses,"  he  said  thought- 
fully. "Then  I  shall  know  exactly  how 
matters  stand  and  be  better  able  to  advise  your 
aunt.  You  can  tell  her  I  will  join  her  at 
dinner." 

When  he  returned  a  few  hours  later,  look- 
ing tired  and  worried,  Hilary  was  alone  in  the 
library.  Mrs.  Pederson  refused  absolutely  to  see 
him.  She  was  too  ill  to  discuss  business,  she 
said;  all  she  wanted  was  to  be  left  alone, 
and  they  might  manage  her  affairs  as  they 
pleased. 

In  vain  Hilary  protested,  coaxed,  and  en- 
treated. Mrs.  Pederson  decreed  to  keep  her 
room,  and  her  dinner  was  carried  thither  by 
the  overworked  and  exasperated  Mantle. 

Mr.  Kemsing  smiled  inscrutably  when  Hilary 
apologised  for  her  aunt's  absence. 

"That  was  her  way  from  a  child,"  he  said. 
"She  could  never  be  got  to  face  a  situation 


FRANCES  REFUSES  TO  INTERFERE.      117 

which  threatened  to  prove  disagreeable.  It's  a 
species  of  weakness  which  never  pays  in  the 
long  run." 

Hilary  nodded.  She  did  not  want  Cousin 
Paul  to  drop  into  generalising  as  he  had  a 
habit  of  doing.  She  was  anxious  to  hear  the 
result  of  his  expedition  into  the  City. 

"Did  you  manage  to  see  Olivers  Smith, 
Cousin  Paul  ? "  she  asked,  as  he  helped  her 
to  fish.  "Are  things  as  bad  as  poor  Aunt 
Sophie  fears?" 

Mr.  Kemsing  frowned,  and  seemed  in  no 
hurry  to  reply.  His  experiences  that  afternoon 
had  not  been  pleasant  ones,  and  he  disliked  to 
go  over  them  even  in  thought. 

"  Bad  1  They  are  as  bad  as  they  well  can 
be,"  he  said  irritably.  "  Everything  has  gone, 
swallowed  up  in  some  confounded  company, 
which  promised  such  huge  dividends  that 
ordinary  common  sense  ought  to  have  warned 
people  that  it  was  a  fraud.  Your  aunt  sold 
out  of  fairly  safe  concerns  and  put  the  whole 
of  her  money  in  it.  Any  man  of  sense  and 
probity  would  have  warned  her  against  such 
folly,  but  she  leaned  on  that  rogue  Smith,  who, 
you  may  be  sure,  has  not  lost  a  penny. 
There's  her  bill  to  him  for  managing  the 


n8  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

business  for  her,  a  cool  three  hundred  with  his 
commission,  and  another  couple  of  hundred  she 
borrowed  awhile  ago.  She  couldn't  keep  out 
of  borrowing,  it  seems,  though  her  own  income 
was  large  enough  to  maintain  her  in  comfort. 
Smith,  who  seems  to  know  all  her  business, 
says  that  she  has  not  a  penny  to  meet  his 
claims  with  and  he  means  to  press  for  a  settle- 
ment. Something  can  be  got  by  selling  the 
lease  of  this  house  and  by  the  sale  of  the 
furniture,  but  there  is  the  future  to  think  of." 

Hilary  listened,  her  eyes  opened  wide  and 
her  food  untasted  on  her  plate. 

"  What  will  Aunt  Sophie  do,  Cousin  Paul  ?  " 
she  said. 

"That  is  a  question  for  her  to  settle,"  he 
replied,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  "Of 
course,  she  must  go  to  Frances,  who  has  a 
small  income  that  no  one  can  touch.  It  isn't 
much,  but  two  women  can  live  on  very  little, 
I  am  told." 

Hilary  shook  her  head.  "  Frances  has  her 
work,  and  her  money  does  little  more  than  keep 
her  and  pay  her  hospital  expenses." 

"Well,  we  must  leave  them  to  manage  that 
between  them.  It  is  you  I  am  thinking  of 
just  now,  my  dear.  Pederson  left  you  ninety 


FRANCES  REFUSES  TO  INTERFERE.      119 

pounds  a  year  on  condition  that  you  lived 
with  Sophie.  If  you  break  that  condition,  the 
money  lapses  to  her.  What  do  you  say, 
Hilary,  to  letting  it  lapse  and  coming  to  live 
at  Sydenham  ?  It  would  be  a  bright  day  for 
me,  child,  when  you  became  my  adopted 
daughter,  and  it  would  be  no  loss  to  you  from 
a  pecuniary  point  of  view.  I  have  enough  for 
us  both  and  to  spare."  He  looked  across  the 
table  with  a  kindly  smile  and  a  manifest  affection 
which  touched  the  girl  to  the  heart.  Her  eyes 
filled  with  tears  and  her  lip  quivered.  The 
prospect  the  old  artist  held  out  was  a  tempting 
one.  She  knew  so  well  what  life  in  the  quiet 
old  house  was  like :  the  cultured  ease,  the 
companionship  of  clever  and  well-bred  people, 
the  influence  of  art  and  books — all  these  would 
be  part  of  her  daily  life.  On  the  other  hand 
was  the  limited  existence  which  would  be 
possible  for  her  and  Mrs.  Pederson  on  ninety 
pounds  a  year.  She  was  sorely  tempted  to 
accept  Cousin  Paul's  offer,  the  more  as  she  felt 
that  Aunt  Sophie  would  perhaps  prefer  it,  since 
it  gave  her  uncontrolled  use  of  the  legacy 
Hilary  would  give  up. 

Something    Frances    had    let   drop    checked 
her.    The  Major  had  left  this  money  so  guarded 


I2O  MRS.  P ED ER SON'S  NIECE 

that  it  might  not  be  in  Aunt  Sophie's  power 
to  lose  it.  He  trusted  her  to  the  girl's  care, 
and  she  could  not  be  unfaithful  to  that  trust 
though  she  had  never  desired  it. 

"  I  can't  come,  though  I  should  like  it 
above  everything,  Cousin  Paul,"  she  said  slowly. 
"I  must  not  desert  poor  Aunt  Sophie  in  her 
trouble.  Please,  do  not  be  vexed  or  think  me 
ungrateful." 

Mr.  Kemsing  was  vexed  and  he  did  not 
conceal  it.  He  was  used  to  having  his  own 
way,  and  liked  as  little  to  be  thwarted  as  Mrs. 
Pederson  did.  "Your  aunt  has  no  right  to  ex- 
pect you  practically  to  sacrifice  yourself  to  her, 
child,  and  I  don't  doubt  she  would  rather  have 
the  ninety  pounds  than  your  company  with  a 
share  in  it.  You  had  better  come  to  me." 

He  was  fond  of  the  bright,  winsome  girl, 
and  was  keenly  anxious  to  spare  her  the  life  ot 
pinching  poverty  which  lay  before  her. 

Yet  as  he  strode  up  and  down  the  room, 
he  was  bound  to  confess  that  he  would  have 
been  disappointed  if  Hilary  had  embraced  his 
offer.  She  would  have  fallen  in  his  esteem 
if  she  had  put  Self  first  and  left  the  fretful, 
disappointed  woman  upstairs  to  complete  her 
own  ruin. 


FRANCES  REFUSES  TO  INTERFERE.      121 

He  stopped  in  his  walking  to  and  fro  and 
laid  his  hands  heavily  on  the  girl's  shoulders. 

"Of  course,  you  must  have  your  own  way, 
you  foolish  girl." 

Hilary  laughed.  "That's  tantamount  to 
saying  that  you  know  I  am  right,  Cousin 
Paul." 

"  I  don't  say  yes  or  no,"  he  replied  testily. 
"I  can  see  that  you  are  going  to  be  horridly 
uncomfortable.  I  have  had  glimpses  of  the 
life  you  will  have  to  lead,  and  it  baffles 
description.  I  would  have  saved  you  from  it 
if  you  would  have  let  me.  If  you  won't  leave 
Sophie,  I  see  no  other  way  to  help  you."  He 
did  actually  see  another  way,  but  even  for 
Hilary's  sake  he  could  not  bring  himself  to 
mention  it.  He  might  have  offered  to  both 
the  shelter  of  his  home,  but  he  could  not 
make  so  big  a  sacrifice.  A  man,  he  said,  must 
have  peace  and  quiet  in  his  old  age,  and  Mrs. 
Pederson's  presence  at  The  Nook  would  make 
work  and  serenity  a  sheer  impossibility. 

"There  is  no  other  way,"  he  repeated. 
"But  remember,  child,  if  you  ever  come  to  a 
rough  place,  you  are  to  send  for  me.  If  ever 
you  need  money,  write  me  a  line,  and  I  will 
sell  my  last  curio,  if  need  be,  to  get  it.  Promise 


122  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

to  remember  old    Paul  Kemsing    if  you   want 
help  or  a  home." 

Hilary  promised  readily  enough.  She  knew 
that  he  was  sincere  in  his  desire  to  help  her, 
and  there  was  no  one  on  earth  to  whom  she 
would  go  so  willingly.  She  determined,  how- 
ever, that  it  should  be  only  as  a  last  resource. 
Surely  she  and  Aunt  Sophie  would  manage  easily 
enough,  without  needing  assistance.  To  Hilary, 
who  had  never  needed  to  know  the  price  of  a 
meal,  or  gauged  the  cost  of  merely  living, 
ninety  pounds  a  year  seemed  a  sum  of  enor- 
mous proportions. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

A  STEP  DOWN  IN  THE  WORLD. 

"I  DON'T  mind  being  poor,  Aunt  Sophie.  It 
is  not  half  so  bad  as  people  make  out.  Having 
less  fashionable  clothes  and  a  more  meagre  table 
can't  really  affect  one's  peace  of  mind.  We  can 
be  quite  happy  together  in  some  quiet  little 
place."  Hilary  delivered  these  sentiments  with 
the  air  of  one  who  had  tested  the  hollowness 
of  prosperity  and  yearned  for  the  bracing  at- 
mosphere of  adversity. 

Mrs.  Pederson  regarded  her  with  speechless 
exasperation. 

"  Happy  1  living  like  rats  in  a  hole  ! "  she 
cried  impatiently.  "You  do  not  know  what 
you  are  talking  about,  girl."  She  was  still 
keeping  her  room,  more  because  it  gave  her  a 
legitimate  excuse  for  refusing  to  see  Chivers 
Smith  when  he  called,  than  because  she  was 
actually  ailing. 

"I  know  what  you  are  thinking  of— a 
cottage  in  a  wood  and  all  that  sort  of  thing — 
but  undiluted  country  I  never  could  nor  will 


124  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

stand.  I  can't  exist  far  away  from  the  shops 
and  all  that  makes  life  worth  anything.  I  should 
lose  health  and  spirits  entirely.  You  must  see 
that,  Hilary." 

"Yes,"  Hilary  said,  looking  as  though  she 
did  not  see  at  all. 

She  was  standing,  her  slight  figure  erect, 
her  chin  uplifted,  her  eyes  on  the  daffodils  she 
was  arranging  in  a  quaint  brown  jar  on  the 
mantelshelf.  There  was  something  so  uncom- 
promising in  her  attitude  and  in  the  silence  she 
maintained  that  Mrs.  Pederson  frowned  appre- 
hensively. 

"If  you  want  to  make  a  regular  centurion's 
servant  of  me,  Hilary,  to  be  at  your  beck  and 
call  and  to  do  just  what  pleases  you,  I  would 
rather  go  straight  to  the  workhouse,"  she  said, 
her  voice  quavering  ominously.  "It's  hard  at 
my  time  of  life  to  be  governed  by  a  chit  like 
you.  It  isn't  generous  of  you  either,  Hilary. 
If  you  happened  to  be  dependent  on  me,  I 
would  not  make  it  a  handle  to  force  you  to 
do  things  you  did  not  like." 

Hilary  flushed  and  bit  her  lip.  She  re- 
membered that  she  had  used  just  those  words 
herself  on  the  day  on  which  her  uncle's  legacy 
had  been  announced  to  her.  She  was  doing 


A  STEP  DOWN  IN  THE  WORLD.        125 

the  very  thing  she  had  declared  then  would  be 
altogether  impossible  to  her.  Though  she  felt 
perfectly  certain  that  what  she  purposed  was 
quite  the  best  course,  she  was  conscious  that  it 
was  not  on  that  account  any  easier  and  pleasanter 
for  her  aunt.  She  felt  the  humiliation  of  Mrs. 
Pederson's  position  and  the  ungraciousness  of 
her  own  keenly. 

She  looked  compunctorily  at  the  querulous 
face  which  had  aged  so  much  during  the  last 
few  weeks. 

"  Poor  Aunt  Sophie  ! "  she  said  gently.  "  You 
shall  go  wherever  you  like.  If  you  are  anxious 
to  stay  in  London,  I  have  no  doubt  it  can  be 
managed." 

Mrs.  Pederson  accepted  Hilary's  assurances 
without  any  show  of  gratitude.  Indeed,  she  saw 
no  need  to  be  grateful.  She  regarded  Hilary's 
little  income  as  a  certainty  which  she  had  a 
right  to  share.  Since  it  had  been  left  to  the  girl 
by  the  Major,  it  had  actually  been  taken  from 
herself.  It  was  mere  justice  that  in  her  ex- 
tremity it  should  go  to  maintain  her. 

The  six  weeks  that  followed  were  wretched 
ones.  To  Hilary  they  passed  like  a  nightmare. 
Mr.  Kemsing  came  and  went,  settling  affairs 
with  Chivers  Smith,  arranging  for  the  sale  of 


126  MRS.  PEDER SON'S  NIECE. 

the  furniture  and  the  disposal  of  the  lease  or 
the  house.  There  were  still  a  thousand  and 
one  anxieties  and  difficulties  that  Hilary  and 
Mantle  had  to  face  as  best  they  might.  Mrs. 
Pederson  refused  to  be  consulted  or  to  discuss 
the  smallest  detail. 

"  Do  just  as  you  like ;  I'm  only  a  pensioner 
on  your  bounty  now,  Hilary,  and  past  caring," 
she  said,  with  a  show  of  resignation.  "If  I 
have  to  live  in  sordid  poverty,  the  details  do 
not  matter." 

She  reserved  the  right  to  criticise  still,  and 
Hilary's  good-temper  was  tried  to  the  uttermost 
by  a  continual  fire  of  the  most  unreasonable 
fault-finding. 

"  Mistress  was  always  a  hole-picker,  and 
trouble  exaggerates  a  body's  weak  points," 
Mantle  said.  "You  just  do  as  I  do,  Miss 
Hilary :  hear  all  she  has  to  say  without  a  word 
and  then  do  what  you  think  best.  She  never 
notices,  and  it  saves  a  lot  of  argufying." 

Mantle  would  gladly  have  gone  with  her 
old  mistress,  but  Hilary  could  not  afford  to 
take  her.  The  calculations  she  had  gone  into 
with  Cousin  Paul  had  shown  her  the  limits  of 
ninety  pounds  a  year.  The  tiny  house  her  in- 
experience had  pictured,  or  the  still  smaller  flat, 


A  STEP  DOWN  IN  THE  WORLD.        127 

were  quite  beyond  her  means,  and  she  wearied 
herself  vainly  in  viewing  lodgings  seductively 
advertised  in  the  daily  papers. 

At  last  she  fell  in  with  a  suggestion 
that  she  should  go  and  see  rooms  in  a  cheap 
boarding-house  kept  by  a  cousin  of  Mantle's. 
Mrs.  Bateson,  the  old  servant  assured  Hilary, 
was  a  kind-hearted  woman  and  would  do  her 
best  for  the  ladies,  though  her  best  would  be 
very  different  to  anything  to  which  they  had 
been  accustomed. 

"  I've  spoken  to  her  often  about  you,  and  I 
know  she  would  be  willing  to  do  things  reason- 
able for  my  sake,"  she  said.  "  You  won't  get 
anything  cheaper  in  London  with  comfort,  and 
company  will  make  it  livelier  for  mistress. 
She  would  be  moped  to  death  in  lodgings." 

Hilary  went  that  afternoon  to  find  "  Bateson's 
Select  Boarding  Establishment,"  and  to  arrange, 
if  possible,  for  their  removal  there. 

It  proved  to  be  one  of  a  row  of  dingy, 
dilapidated  houses  in  a  dull  street  off  the 
Kennington  Road.  A  flight  of  hollowed  and 
unwashed  steps  led  to  the  door,  and  as  Hilary 
entered  she  was  assailed  by  a  pungent  scent  of 
frying  fish. 

A  sulky  maid  ushered  her  into  a  small  sitting' 


128  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

room,  which  opened  on  a  verandah  crowded 
with  languid  geraniums  just  recovering  from  a 
winter's  neglect  and  crushed-looking  tulips  in 
fancy  pots. 

She  was  studying  this  well-meant  attempt 
at  a  winter  garden  when  the  door  opened  and 
a  smiling  little  woman,  very  stout  and  mani- 
festly suffering  from  her  rapid  ascent  of  the 
kitchen  stairs,  bustled  into  the  room.  She  was 
dressed  in  a  black  gown,  with  a  startling 
design  of  blue  roses  printed  upon  it,  the 
bodice  of  which  creaked  ominously  as  she  settled 
herself  in  a  low  chair  and  prepared  to  discuss 
business  with  the  young  lady. 

"  You'll  like  to  see  the  rooms  ? "  she  said 
gaily,  after  a  little  conversation,  ostensibly  de- 
voted to  Hilary's  busin^-j,  but  into  which  she 
had  managed  to  import  a  large  part  of  her 
own  family  history  and  a  eulogistic  recommen- 
dation of  "  Bateson's  Select." 

"Select  it  has  always  been  and  select  it 
is  going  to  be  so  long  as  I  hold  the  reins," 
she  said,  nodding  emphatically.  "  Bateson's  last 
words  to  me,  poor  man,  were  not  to  let  the 
house  down  whatever  it  cost  me.  Anyone  can 
let  lodgings,  said  he,  but  it  means  talent  and 
selection  to  keep  a  boarding-house.  Liberal 


A  STEP  DOWN  IN  THE  WORLD.       129 

table,  the  nicest  company,  quite  the  family  life 
— that  is  what  you  will  find  here,  my  dear — 
quite  the  family  life." 

She  conducted  Hilary  up  two  flights  of  stairs 
and  opened  the  door  of  a  good-sized  room, 
rather  meagrely  furnished,  but  airy  and  facing 
the  south.  It  was  far  more  comfortable  than 
Hilary  had  dared  to  expect  from  the  condition 
of  the  rest  of  the  house. 

She  expressed  her  satisfaction,  and  followed 
Mrs.  Bateson,  who  insisted  that  she  must  see 
the  drawing-room  or  she  would  have  no  idea 
of  the  pleasant  family  life  the  boarders  lived. 

"After  dinner  we  always  gather  in  the 
drawing-room  for  a  little  music  and  conversation 
— so  cosy  and  homely,  you  know,"  she  said, 
smiling  expansively  and  furtively  rubbing  her 
hot  hands.  "  From  what  Miss  Mantle  tells  me, 
your  aunt  will  be  one  to  appreciate  the  flow  of 
wit  and  the  social  charm." 

Hilary,  with  a  little  smile  curving  the  corners 
of  her  mouth,  assented.  The  boarding-house 
would  at  least  afford  a  certain  measure  of 
amusement. 

The  drawing-room  was  a  large  room,  pre- 
tentiously furnished,  in  which  every  article 
seemed  to  be  out  of  repair  or  crying  out  for 


130  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

renovation.  Sentimental  oleographs  adorned 
the  discoloured  walls,  the  blinds  were  torn 
and  dingy  and  the  sofas  were  covered  with  a 
worn  rep,  the  dazzling  blue  of  which  had  been 
mercifully  dimmed  by  time  and  the  boarders 
of  many  seasons. 

Two  or  three  elderly  ladies  were  gathered 
about  a  small  table  which  was  spread  with  a 
much-chipped  tea  equipage,  and  at  the  piano  an 
angular,  red-haired  woman  of  thirty  or  so  was 
plaintively  informing  some  "birdie"  invisible 
that  she  had  a  cage  all  ready  for  his  occupancy. 

On  Mrs.  Bateson's  entrance  she  stopped 
in  her  appeal  for  his  immediate  acceptance  of 
her  offer  and  wheeled  round  on  the  music- 
stool. 

"  Another  boarder,  Mrs.  Bateson  ?  "  she  asked, 
eyeing  Hilary  inquisitively.  "  Please  introduce 
me.  I  daresay  Mrs.  Bateson  has  told  you  that 
we  are  quite  one  family,"  she  said,  turning  to 
Hilary  with  a  little  giggle. 

"It's  not  quite  settled,  Miss  Heckler,"  Mrs. 
Bateson  said  impressively ;  "  I'm  just  showing 
Miss  Pederson  the  house,  and  hoping  she  will 
decide  to  come  to  us.  Miss  Pederson  and  her 
aunt  will  be  quite  acquisitions,  if  I  may  say  so. 
Miss  Pederson  has  spent  a  lifetime  abroad,  and 


A  STEP  DOWN  IN  TUB  WORLD.        131 

is  quite  the  travelled  young  lady,  and  used 
to  the  best  society,  quite  the  best." 

Hilary  coloured  at  this  advertisement  of 
her  advantages  and  retreated  to  the  door, 
telling  Mrs.  Bateson  she  was  pressed  for  time, 
and  would  decide  to  take  the  rooms  without 
seeing  anything  further. 

Away  from  Mrs.  Bateson,  with  her  fat, 
shining  lace,  her  odd  manner,  and  her  un- 
mistakable kindness,  it  was  not  so  easy  for 
Hilary  to  see  the  brighter  side  of  this  new 
phase  of  existence  upon  which  she  was  entering. 
It  seemed  impossible  that  she,  Hilary  Pederson, 
Madame  Brun's  favourite  pupil,  the  idol  of  the 
school,  whose  whole  life  and  training  had  been 
so  alien  to  what  was  vulgar  and  commonplace, 
should  be  going  to  form  one  of  the  "  family " 
under  Mrs.  Bateson's  roof.  It  was  an  adjust- 
ment of  herself  to  circumstances  which  could 
not  be  made  all  at  once. 

A  few  days  later  Mrs.  Pederson  and 
Hilary  left  Markham  Square. 

At  the  last  Mrs.  Pederson  became  pleasantly 
excited  by  the  prospect  Hilary's  description 
of  the  boarding-house  presented  to  her  imagina- 
tion. She  had  been  terribly  afraid  of  life  alone 
with  Hilary  in  small  and  third-rate  lodgings.  On 


132  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

a  large  stage  it  is  possible  to  live  one's  life  with- 
out interfering  with  others ;  but  on  a  limited 
one,  community  of  interest  is  essential  for 
mutual  comfort  Mrs.  Pederson  sometimes  felt 
that  Hilary  was  too  uncompromising  and 
breathed  an  air  too  rarefied  for  her. 

Hilary  never  forgot  that  first  evening  at 
Mrs.  Bateson's — the  overheated  dining-room,  the 
clatter  of  plates,  and  the  noise  of  many  people 
eating.  She  looked,  with  a  sinking  of  heart, 
down  the  long  table  with  its  soiled  cloth,  its 
smeared  glasses,  its  steaming  joints,  and  turned 
away  with  something  like  nausea  from  the  great 
plate  of  food  thrust  over  her  shoulder  by  an 
awkward  and  ill-tempered  maid  who  wore  a 
dirty  cap  and  had  an  unpleasant  habit  of  snort- 
ing as  she  moved. 

Her  seat  was  next  to  Mrs.  Bateson,  whilst 
opposite  sat  a  young  man,  with  a  florid  com- 
plexion above  an  expansive  shirt-front,  in  which 
was  embedded  a  huge  imitation  ruby. 

He  stared  at  her  with  manifest  admiration, 
endeavoured  to  set  her  at  her  ease  by  some 
chaffing  remark,  and  then  continued  his  con- 
versation with  his  neighbour. 

"  He's  an  insurance  agent  in  quite  a  big 
way,"  whispered  Mrs.  Bateson;  "and  quite 


A  STEP  DOWN  IN  THE  WORLD.        133 

the  gentleman  is  Mr.  Bradbrook,  for  all  he  is 
so  free.  Miss  Bird  would  not  talk  to  him 
if  he  were  not  vastly  agreeable.  She  is  a  lady 
journalist,  immensely  clever,  I'm  told,  and  very 
exclusive." 

Hilary  nodded  and  scrutinised  the  exclusive 
Miss  Bird,  who  was  certainly  more  interesting 
than  the  insurance  agent.  She  was  a  yellow- 
haired,  pale  little  woman,  with  a  thin,  mobile 
face  which  reminded  Hilary  of  Frances,  and  an 
amusing  way  of  expressing  herself  on  the  most 
ordinary  subjects. 

Mrs.  Pederson  was  already  deep  in  con- 
versation with  a  showily  dressed  elderly  lady 
with  a  Jewish  cast  of  countenance,  and  was 
evidently  enjoying  her  position.  Hilary  blamed 
herself  for  feeling  forlorn  and  out  of  place,  and 
hoped  that  to-morrow  would  find  her  less 
tired  and  captious. 

The  dinner  ended  at  last,  and  with  the 
exception  of  Miss  Bird,  who  had  to  report  a 
meeting  in  the  West  End,  the  whole  party 
trooped  to  the  drawing-room,  to  wile  away 
the  next  hour  with  a  great  deal  of  loud  music 
and  as  much  animated  conversation.  Each 
member  contributed  his  or  her  quota  of  gossip, 
good-natured  or  otherwise,  which  was  tossed 


134  MRS.  PEDER SON'S  NIECE. 

from  one  to  another,  mangled  and  patched  and 
worried,  till  its  owner  scarcely  recognised  it 
as  her  own. 

Hilary  soon  made  her  escape. 

"It  is  quite  clear/'  she  said  as  she  climbed 
the  steep  staircase,  lit  by  a  flaring  gas-jet, 
"that  one  has  to  become  acclimatised  to 
'Bateson's  Select  Establishment.'  I  wonder 
what  Frances  or  Ursula  would  say  if  they 
could  see  us  at  this  stage  of  our  fortunes." 


CHAPTER    X. 
"BATESON'S   SELECT   BOARDING 

ESTABLISHMENT." 

IT  was  a  strange  kind  of  life  Hilary  lived  for 
the  next  few  months  under  Mrs.  Bateson's 
roof.  It  was  full  of  change  and  had  its  amusing 
features,  but  Hilary  soon  found  herself  too 
busy  to  notice  peculiarities  or  to  mind  much 
the  things  which  had  at  first  jarred  upon  her. 
Mrs.  Pederson  made  great  demands  upon  her 
time,  and  it  was  not  long  before  Mrs.  Bateson 
and  the  boarders  discovered  that  she  was  deft, 
and  willing  to  please  them  by  the  performance 
of  small  services. 

She  was  a  favourite  with  them  all,  and  in 
her  turn  liked  those  with  whom  she  was  bound 
to  associate,  though  she  might  never  have 
chosen  them  as  companions.  There  was  nothing 
mean  and  spiteful  about  them,  and  they  were 
kind  to  the  girl,  making  much  of  her  when  she 
came  into  the  drawing-room  or  accepted  an 
invitation  to  their  rooms  to  give  her  opinion 
upon  some  point  of  private  or  personal  interest. 


136  MRS.  PEDERSON' s  NIECE. 

The  young  men  called  her  "stand-off,"  and 
were  a  little  afraid  of  her.  They  could  not 
"chaff"  her  as  they  did  Miss  Heckler  and  the 
knot  of  telegraph  girls  who  had  a  corner  table 
to  themselves  at  dinner  and  kept  up  a  bubble 
of  laughter  and  shrill-voiced  conversation.  They 
did  not  appear  to  mind  in  the  least  the  smeary 
silver  and  the  stained  knives  which  made  Hilary 
shudder,  and  treated  a  failure  in  the  culinary 
department  as  an  excellent  joke. 

There  had  been  efforts  towards  improvement 
in  many  directions  since  the  arrival  of  Mrs. 
and  Miss  Pederson.  Hilary  never  criticised,  to 
be  sure,  but  her  very  difference  from  those 
about  her  was  a  daily  criticism,  though  she 
was  not  the  least  conscious  of  it. 

Somewhat  to  Hilary's  surprise,  Mrs.  Pederson 
was  pleased  with  her  new  surroundings.  There 
were  times  when  she  lamented  loudly  the  life 
she  had  left  behind  her,  when  she  was  so  irrit- 
able that  Hilary  scarcely  dared  to  address  her, 
yet  she  indubitably  enjoyed  the  boarding-house 
life  which  to  Hilary  seemed  such  a  poor  make- 
shift for  home. 

Mrs.  Pederson  delighted  in  the  distinction 
she  enjoyed  as  one  who  had  descended  from  a 
higher  sphere  than  those  about  her  ever  dreamed 


"BATESON'S  BOARDING  ESTABLISHMENT"  137 

of  entering.  She  liked  to  entertain  little  groups 
of  ladies  with  stories  of  the  luxuries  and  con- 
veniences with  which  No.  10,  Markham  Square, 
had  been  replete.  Its  charms  gained  enchant- 
ment the  farther  they  receded  into  the  past, 
till  Hilary  scarcely  recognised  in  her  aunt's 
descriptions  the  dull,  commonplace  house  in 
which  she  had  spent  so  many  dull,  common- 
place months. 

She  was  glad,  however,  that  her  aunt  should 
be  happy  and  amused,  though  she  might  think 
the  method  in  the  worst  taste.  It  made  her 
own  life  decidedly  easier.  In  a  good  humour, 
Mrs.  Pederson  was  kind-hearted  and  amusing, 
but  if  anything  put  her  out,  the  atmosphere 
about  her  became  electrical,  and  the  most  well- 
meant  efforts  to  propitiate  her  were  apt  to  be 
misconstrued. 

There  came  a  day  when  Hilary  saw  that 
even  boarding  with  Mrs.  Bateson  was  a  more 
elaborate  scheme  of  life  than  their  scanty  in- 
come would  stretch  to.  It  became  increasingly 
difficult  to  meet  Mrs.  Bateson's  modest  weekly 
bills,  and  the  margin  for  absolute  necessaries 
grew  smaller  and  smaller.  Hilary's  own  gowns 
were  threadbare,  and  there  seemed  no  prospect 
of  her  being  able  to  replace  them.  She  pored 


138  MRS.  PEDERSON' s  NIECE. 

over  her  little  account  book  till  her  eyes  and 
her  back  ached,  but  the  balance  remained  ob- 
stinately on  the  wrong  side. 

It  was  futile  to  consult  Mrs.  Pederson.  Dis- 
cussions on  financial  matters  always  provoked 
an  attack  of  hysteria,  in  which  Hilary's  manage- 
ment was  wildly  denounced  and  her  own 
economy  pointed  to  as  a  burning  example. 

Hilary  secretly  regarded  her  aunt's  economy 
as  a  figment  of  her  imagination  ;  it  was  built 
upon  a  few  axioms  which  Mrs.  Pederson  be- 
lieved to  be  as  infallible  as  truth  itself.  She 
guided  her  own  expenditure  by  them,  and  no 
sage  living  would  have  convinced  her  that  it  was 
not  always  "cheapest  in  the  long  run"  to  buy 
the  most  expensive  articles  on  the  market. 

"The  best  is  always  cheapest  in  the 
long  run,"  she  would  say  firmly,  when  Hilary 
tried  to  convince  her  that  if  you  have  only 
ten  shillings  in  hand,  it  was  unwise  to  spend 
seven  of  them  on  lavender  gloves  or  a  delicate 
thing  in  chiffon  boas. 

If  Hilary  hinted  that  their  purse  was  getting 
empty  Mrs.  Pederson  was  always  quick  to 
express  her  readiness  to  find  money,  a  step 
Hilary  never  failed  to  combat  with  all  her  force. 
She  knew  what  lay  behind  the  suggestion. 


"BATESON'S  BOARDING  ESTABLISHMENT"  139 

Mrs.  Pederson  had  promised  never  again  to 
have  any  business  relations  with  Chivers  Smith, 
and  it  was  her  way  of  asking  her  niece  to 
release  her  from  that  promise.  Hilary  told 
herself  that  she  would  rather  beg  her  bread  in 
the  street  than  borrow  money  of  Chivers  Smith, 
or  consent  to  her  aunt  entering  the  dingy  little 
office  in  Chancery  Lane. 

Not  that  Hilary  had  lost  faith  in  the  world 
or  herself.  She  thought  it  would  be  a  strange 
thing  if  she  could  not  find  some  means  of 
adding  to  her  small  income. 

She  sat  at  the  table  one  May  morning, 
slowly  disposing  of  a  breakfast  chilled  by  long 
waiting.  She  was  alone,  for  the  boarders  had 
breakfasted  half  an  hour  before  and  gone  their 
several  ways.  The  stillness  of  the  house  was 
only  broken  by  the  tapping  of  Sarah's  broom 
as  she  swept  the  stairs,  and  the  cheery  voice 
of  Mrs.  Bateson  spurring  the  heavy  and  re- 
luctant boot-boy  to  his  duties.  Hilary's  own 
breakfast  was  delayed  by  the  necessity  for 
waiting  upon  her  aunt,  who  took  her  matutinal 
meal  in  her  own  room,  and  felt  neglected  unless 
Hilary  made  frequent  pilgrimages  up  the  four 
flights  of  steps  to  replenish  her  tray. 

A  newspaper  was  propped  against  the  coffee- 


140  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECB. 

pot,  and  Hilary,  whose  meal  was  not  of  that 
luxurious  kind  which  demands  the  whole  atten- 
tion, divided  hers  impartially  between  its  columns 
and  her  cup  of  cold  coffee.  There  was  a 
glimmer  of  a  smile  in  her  blue  eyes  as  they 
went  steadily  down  the  long  list  of  advertise- 
ments. So  many  things  amused  her  which 
other  people  found  the  grimmest  commonplace. 

"To  reduce  personal  vanity,  begin  to 
enumerate  your  capabilities  and  accomplishments 
with  a  view  to  earning  your  daily  bread,"  she 
said  aloud.  "I  give  the  recipe  gratis  to  any- 
one it  may  concern.  If  I  were  gifted  with  the 
qualifications  necessary  to  a  thorough  cook  or 
a  scullery-maid,  or  a  'cutter/  whatever  that 
may  be,  I  should  find  myself  a  pearl  of  great 
price  to  some  needy  advertiser.  As  it  is,  I  am 
simply  staggered  by  my  own  ineptitude." 

She  threw  down  the  paper  with  a  rueful 
laugh  and  leaned  her  chin  in  the  palms  of  her 
hands. 

"I'm  determined  to  do  something  —  but 
what  ?  "  she  said  thoughtfully.  "  It  ought  to 
be  something  which  did  not  take  me  from 
home  very  long,  for  Aunt  Sophie  would  dislike 
that  awfully." 

She  pushed  back  her  chair,  and  was  folding 


*BATESON'S  BOARDING  ESTABLISHMENT?  141 

the   paper   when    Mrs.  Bateson  came  into  the 
room. 

"Don't  you  hurry  over  your  breakfast,  my 
dear,"  she  said.  "  It  isn't  the  least  bit  of  con- 
sequence how  long  you  sit  if  you  don't  mind 
carrying  your  cup  and  plate  down  to  the  kitchen 
when  you  have  done.  It's  more  than  I  dare  ask 
Sarah  to  clear  the  table  twice  in  a  morning." 
She  sat  down  in  a  chair  and  wiped  her  heated 
brow  with  a  not  over-clean  handkerchief.  She 
laboured  under  an  unconquerable  tendency  to 
get  physically  warm,  and  the  climb  from  the 
kitchen  to  the  dining-room  was  a  steep  one. 

"It  is  the  stairs  that  try  me,  dear,"  she 
said,  fanning  herself.  "I  hope  you  will  never 
get  stout,  though  some  people  don't  seem  to 
feel  their  fat  like  I  do.  I  wanted  to  ask  you 
whether  you  would  mind  going  round  to  the 
butcher's  for  me  this  morning.  Mrs.  Moss  has 
sent  down  to  say  she  feels  a  bit  poorly, 
and  thinks  a  sweetbread  for  her  lunch  would 
do  her  good.  They  are  dreadfully  expensive, 
but  I  always  like  to  please  the  boarders  if  it 
lies  in  my  power;  it  is  only  what  one  ought 
to  do,  of  course."  Mrs.  Bateson  was  one  of 
those  kindly  creatures  who  want  everybody  to 
have  the  best  of  everything,  and  she  did  not 


142  MRS.  PEDER SON'S  NIECE, 

mind  struggling  and  pinching  herself  to  get  it 
for  them. 

"  What  have  you  been  reading,  my  dear  ? 
Any  news  about  the  Royal  family  ?  I  seldom  get 
a  minute  to  look  at  the  papers,  and  the  gentle- 
men always  expect  you  to  be  able  to  talk  about 
what  is  going  on.  I  get  Miss  Heckler  to  give 
me  hints,  for  she  just  soaks  herself  in  the 
daily  papers.  It  is  about  all  she  has  to  do, 
poor  thing.  When  I'm  torn  in  two  with  work 
I  do  envy  her  a  bit ;  but,  after  all,  she  has  a 
deal  duller  life  than  I  have,  when  all's  said  and 
done." 

"And  how  much  less  useful,  dear  Mrs. 
Bateson ! "  Hilary  said  affectionately.  She  was 
fond  of  the  little,  hardworked,  ever-cheerful 
landlady,  who  had  been  a  good  friend  to  her 
during  the  past  seven  months.  "I  was  not 
reading  the  news  this  morning,  but  the  dry 
advertisement  columns,"  she  added,  laughing. 
"  It  has  come  to  this,  Mrs.  Bateson  :  I  must 
try  to  earn  a  little  money  somehow." 

Mrs.  Bateson  nodded.  "To  be  sure,  ladies 
do  it  everywhere  nowadays,  and  very  wise  they 
are.  I  suppose  you  will  look  for  some  teaching, 
my  dear — a  morning's  job  that  would  give  you 
a  bit  of  time  to  yourself  ?  " 


BOARDING  ESTABLISHMENT"   143 

Hilary  shook  her  head.  "I  feel  as  though 
I  would  rather  do  anything  else."  She  moved 
to  the  window  and  stood  looking  out.  "I'm 
not  clever,  you  see,  and  I  have  no  accom- 
plishments. I  can  talk  French  and  German 
because  I  have  been  abroad  so  long,  but  no  one 
seems  to  crave  for  such  services  as  I  can  render, 
though  I've  searched  the  columns  with  the  eyes 
of  a  hawk." 

"  You  have  patience,  my  dear ;  one  paper  is 
nothing.  I'll  send  William  out  for  another 
paper,  and  we  will  look  through  it  together  when 
I  have  a  moment  to  spare.  I  must  go  down 
to  the  kitchen  now  and  arrange  about  the  dishes 
for  luncheon  and  dinner.  What  a  comfort  it  is 
to  think  that  in  heaven  there  won't  be  any  eat- 
ing and  drinking." 

Hilary  laughed.  "And  I  must  run  up  to 
Aunt  Sophie,  who  will  be  waiting  for  her  can 
of  hot  water.  Shall  I  dust  the  drawing-room  for 
you,  and  mend  those  tablecloths,  when  I  come 
down  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  you  are  too  kind  !  Sarah  is  no 
good  as  a  housemaid  when  it  comes  to  darning. 
I  had  to  sit  up  till  midnight  last  night  mending, 
for  Mrs.  Moss  said  that  the  place  looked  like  a 
ragbag." 


144  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

"Rude  old  creature!"  cried  Hilary.  "Leave 
the  tablecloths  to  me,  and  woe  betide  her  if  she 
finds  fault  with  anything  in  my  presence." 

Mrs.  Bateson  thanked  her  gratefully,  and  went 
off  to  discuss  with  the  cook  the  simple  dishes 
which  appeared  on  the  menu-cards  under  highly 
decorative  names,  spelt  with  a  freedom  which 
was  certainly  more  entertaining  than  informa- 
tive. 


CHAPTER   XI. 
"WHAT  BECAME  OF  THE  SOVEREIGNS?" 

MRS.  PEDERSON  had  not  been  the  same  woman 
since  the  change  in  her  fortunes.  The  low  fever 
into  which  she  had  fretted  herself,  and  which 
clung  to  her  for  some  weeks  after  she  came 
to  Tozer  Street,  had  left  her  weak  and  irritable. 
She  was  subject  to  fits  of  nervous  depression, 
and  had  lost  much  of  her  vivacity.  Her  dark 
eyes  no  longer  flashed  and  glittered,  and  an 
expression  of  peevishness  and  discontent  had 
settled  upon  her  long,  thin  face,  whilst  her  con- 
versation, when  alone  with  Hilary,  was  usually 
made  up  of  complaint  and  reproach. 

She  was  moving  about  the  bedroom  restlessly 
when  her  niece  opened  the  door.  Her  hat  and 
coat  lay  on  a  chair,  and  she  was  stretching  a 
pair  of  white  doeskin  gloves  as  she  walked  up 
and  down. 

"Why,  Aunt  Sophie,  you  are  dressed  an 
hour  before  your  usual  time,"  Hilary  said  cheer- 
fully. "Do  you  feel  so  much  better  this  morn- 
ing? I  expected  you  would  be  still  in  bed." 


146  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

"  Nonsense  !  my  watch  points  to  ten  o'clock, 
and  I  never  lie  after  that,"  Mrs.  Pederson  said 
sharply.  "You  have  been  gossiping  with  Mrs. 
Bateson,  I  suppose,  and  did  not  notice  the 
time.  I  had  to  ring  and  ask  Sarah  to  bring 
me  up  my  hot  water,  and  a  great  fuss  she 
made  about  it.  As  though  we  did  not  pay 
for  attention  and  that  sort  of  thing  ! " 

"We  pay  very  little,  you  know,"  Hilary 
reminded  her.  "Mrs.  Bateson  naturally  expects 
us  to  give  as  little  trouble  as  we  can." 

Mrs.  Pederson  shrugged  her  shoulders  and 
set  her  bangles  jingling. 

"  I  don't  trouble  myself  about  Mrs.  Bateson's 
expectations,  and  you  need  not  do  so  either. 
Wait  till  I  can  make  a  little  money,  and  we 
will  leave  her  and  find  a  more  select  place." 
She  stopped,  and  glanced  furtively  at  Hilary. 
The  girl  was  looking  at  her  with  a  little 
perpendicular  line  between  her  dark  eyebrows. 

"For  goodness'  sake,  don't  stare  at  me  as 
though  I  were  an  antediluvian  monster,  girl," 
she  said  tartly.  "Help  me  into  my  coat.  I 
am  going  out  to  do  some  shopping  before  the 
counters  get  crowded.  Give  me  a  couple  of 
pounds — that  will  be  as  much  as  I  shall  need." 

Hilary's    lips    tightened.     She    had    only    a 


"WHAT  BECAME  OF  THE  SOVEREIGNS?"   147 

very  few  pounds  in  her  purse,  and  it  would  be 
many  weeks  before  her  dividends  were  due. 
She  would  be  obliged  to  refuse  her  aunt,  and 
it  was  a  proceeding  which  past  experience  had 
made  her  unwilling  to  repeat. 

"Must  you  really  have  the  money,  Aunt 
Sophie  ?  "  she  said  hesitatingly.  "  We  can  spare 
it  very  badly  for  anything  but  actual  neces- 
sities." 

Mrs.  Pederson  turned  from  the  glass  where 
she  was  arranging  her  veil  over  her  grey  fringe. 

"Of  course  I  must  have  it,  or  you  may  be 
sure  I  should  not  ask,"  she  said.  "  I'm  sick  of 
having  you  hold  the  purse-strings,  Hilary.  It's 
humiliating  to  me  at  my  time  of  life.  Next 
quarter  when  the  dividends  come  you  must  make 
up  your  mind  to  hand  them  over  to  me.  After 
all,  it  is  really  my  money,  though  your  uncle, 
for  some  silly  reason,  thought  he  must  leave 
you  independent." 

Hilary  sighed  impatiently.  She  was  so  tired 
of  this  oft-repeated  taunt,  and  if  it  had  not 
been  that  she  had  promised  Cousin  Paul  to 
keep  her  purse  in  her  own  hands,  she  would 
long  ago  have  allowed  Mrs.  Pederson  to 
manage  or  mismanage  their  joint  income  as  she 
pleased. 


148  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

"When  the  dividends  come  they  will  nearly 
all  have  to  go  to  Mrs.  Bateson.  We  shall  be 
heavily  in  her  debt,"  she  said  wearily. 

"  That  woman  is  a  regular  leech  1 "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Pederson.  "Seventy  pounds  a  year  for 
the  miserable  meals  and  the  dirty  rooms  she 
gives  us !  It's  ridiculous.  If  I  only  had  a 
little  capital  I  would  start  a  boarding-house 
myself  and  grow  rich  on  it." 

"  Much  or  little,  it  is  more  than  we  shall  be 
able  to  continue  to  pay,  Aunt  Sophie,"  Hilary 
replied,  taking  her  purse  out  of  her  pocket  and 
emptying  the  contents  on  the  dressing-table. 

"That  has  to  last  us  nearly  three  months," 
she  said,  pointing  to  the  three  sovereigns,  the 
few  shillings,  and  the  pile  of  coppers. 

Mrs.  Pederson  paused  in  the  act  of  putting 
on  her  hat  and  glanced  at  the  small  sum  which 
represented  their  available  income. 

"Gracious  !  what  a  muddler  you  must  be, 
Hilary  1 "  she  ejaculated. 

Hilary  flushed.  A  sharp  retort  rose  to  her 
lips,  but  she  had  learnt  that  the  best  defence  at 
such  times  was  not  to  answer  a  word. 

Mrs.  Pederson  watched  her  petulantly  as  she 
moved  about  the  room,  making  the  bed,  sweep- 
ing the  litter  into  the  grate,  and  dusting  the 


"WHAT  BECAME  OF  THE  SOVEREIGNS?"    149 

ornaments.  It  was  manifest  that,  as  far  as 
Hilary  was  concerned,  the  conversation  was 
closed. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Pederson  dropped  into  a  chair 
and,  after  her  wont  when  thwarted,  began  to 
weep  boisterously. 

"It's  hard,  hard,  hard  to  be  brought  to 
poverty  at  my  time  of  life.  Nobody  ever 
guessed  it  would  happen  when  I  married  your 
Uncle  Pederson,  Hilary,"  she  gasped  between 
her  sobs.  "There  were  many  envied  me  that 
day,  I  can  tell  you.  I  never  knew  what  it  was 
to  want  a  pound  in  my  life,  and  now,  to 
think  only  a  few  paltry  shillings  stand  between 
me  and  want." 

"It  is  not  quite  so  bad  as  that,"  Hilary 
said  patiently.  "We  shall  not  want  at  all  if 
we  are  careful."  She  might  have  reminded  this 
victim  of  outrageous  fortune  that  her  woes 
were  of  her  own  manufacture,  and  that  foolish- 
ness, and  not  misfortune,  had  brought  her  to  her 
present  condition. 

The  torrent  of  Mrs.  Pederson's  woe  was 
soon  assuaged.  She  remembered  that  she  was 
going  out,  and  glanced  furtively  into  the  mirror 
to  see  what  ravages  her  tears  had  wrought  on 
her  thin,  grey  face. 


150  MRS.  PEDERSON  s  NIEC&. 

"You  mean  well,  Hilary,"  she  said  magnani- 
mously. "  I  don't  forget  that  you  pulled  me 
through  this  trouble  when  Frances  chose  to 
leave  her  sick  mother  to  do  the  best  she  could. 
We  won't  worry.  Who  knows  how  soon  my 
ship  may  come  home  and  we  shall  have  enough 
to  live  comfortably  on."  She  nodded  signifi- 
cantly, and  wiped  her  eyes  on  a  lace-edged 
handkerchief  which  belonged  to  Hilary. 

The  girl  stopped,  duster  in  hand,  and  looked 
at  her  aunt  apprehensively. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Aunt  Sophie  ? "  she 
asked  quickly.  "You  have  no  ship  to  come 
home,  to  use  your  own  metaphor.  You  cannot, 
you  surely  cannot  have  been  letting  Chivers 
Smith  persuade  you  to  speculate  again."  Her 
memory  went  swiftly  back  to  various  occasions 
when  her  aunt  had  borrowed  a  pound  or  two 
and  gone  out,  ostensibly  to  shop,  but  had  brought 
nothing  back  with  her  for  her  outlay. 

Mrs.  Pederson  flushed,  and  flung  open  the 
window,  saying  that  she  was  stifling  for  want 
of  space  to  breathe  in. 

"Why  should  you  think  I  have  been 
speculating  again  ? "  she  asked  sharply.  "  Isn't 
there  a  proverb  that  the  burnt  child  dreads  the 
fire  ?  Surely  I  may  have  reason  to  hope  that 


"'Another  boarder,  Mrs.  Bateson  ? '  she  asked,  eyeing  Hilary 

inquisitively"    (p.   130). 


"WHAT  BECAME  OF  THE  SOVEREIGNS?"   151 

some  of  the  money  I  sunk  in  that  wretched 
gold  mine  will  come  back  some  day  ?  Don't 
harbour  suspicions,  Hilary ;  only  horrid  people 
are  mistrustful.  Now,  run  down  and  see  if  you 
can  get  me  a  cup  of  tea,  there's  a  good  child. 
All  this  excitement  has  given  me  a  violent 
headache." 

Hilary  departed  somewhat  unwillingly. 
Mrs.  Pederson's  predilection  for  tea  at  un- 
wonted hours  was  a  bone  of  contention  in  the 
kitchen.  She  went  down  the  stairs  thought- 
fully. Her  aunt's  explanation  had  not  con- 
vinced her  in  the  least,  and  she  was  certain 
that  Mrs.  Pederson's  promise  not  to  dabble 
again  in  business  had  been  broken. 

"It's  no  use  asking  Sarah  for  hot  water 
now,  she  will  have  the  stove  filled  with 
saucepans,"  she  said  aloud.  "  I  will  fetch  a  kettle, 
and  ask  Mrs.  Moss  to  let  me  boil  some  water 
on  her  gas-stove." 

Mrs.  Moss  was  always  pleased  to  grant  the 
girl  this  favour.  It  gave  her  a  few  minutes  of 
Hilary's  company  and  made  a  spot  of  bright- 
ness in  a  day  that  was  uniformly  drab. 

This  morning  Hilary  found  her  deep  in  the 
consideration  of  a  new  cap,  and  her  knock  at 
the  door  was  hailed  as  most  opportune.  She 


152  MRS.  PEDERSOrfs  NlECE. 

could  give  her  advice  whilst  the  kettle 
boiled. 

The  purchase  of  a  new  cap  was  an  event  in 
the  life  of  Mrs.  Moss,  and  the  respective  merits 
of  turquoise  with  pearl  and  old  lace  with 
myrtle  green  velvet  had  to  be  carefully 
weighed. 

It  was  ten  minutes  before  the  girl  could 
make  her  escape  without  an  appearance  of 
undue  haste. 

She  hurried  upstairs  and  entered  the  bed- 
room with  an  apology  for  her  tardiness  on  her 
lips. 

The  room  was  empty.  One  glance  towards 
the  wardrobe  told  her  that  Mrs.  Pederson's 
coat  and  sunshade  were  gone. 

"How  mean  of  her,  after  giving  me  the 
trouble  to  make  tea ! "  she  exclaimed  hotly, 
setting  the  tray  down  on  the  chest  of  drawers 
and  looking  round  her. 

Then  her  colour  faded,  and  she  darted  to 
the  table.  She  had  left  her  little  store  of 
money  there,  and  the  sovereigns  were  gone  ! 

She  dropped  into  a  chair,  and  leaning  her 
head  on  her  hands  shed  the  bitterest  tears  she 
had  shed  in  her  young  life. 

Mrs.  Pederson  did  not  return  until  the  gong 


"WHAT  BECAME  OF  THE  SOVEREIGNS?"    153 

had  sounded  for  dinner,  and  Hilary,  ready 
dressed,  was  coming  down  the  stairs. 

The  girl  passed  her  with  the  ghost  of  a 
smile.  She  could  not  speak  to  her  yet,  though 
had  made  up  her  mind  not  to  allude  to  her 
loss.  She  had  thought  the  matter  out  as  she 
sat  darning  the  tablecloths  in  Mrs.  Bateson's 
stuffy  little  back  room. 

She  would  find  a  situation  somewhere  in 
the  country,  somewhere  too  far  away  from 
town  for  Aunt  Sophie  to  be  tempted  by  Chivers 
Smith  to  embark  in  wild  speculations,  and 
where  she  would  not  be  constantly  reminded 
of  her  lessened  means.  It  would  be  hard 
work  to  persuade  her  to  leave  London,  but 
Hilary  meant  to  achieve  it.  She  felt  she  was 
right,  and  flattered  herself  that  she  could  make 
her  aunt  also  see  the  wisdom  of  the  step. 

"And  you  will  be  doing  the  right  thing,  my 
dear,  I  agree,"  said  Mrs.  Bateson,  to  whom  she 
expounded  her  views  and  laid  bare  her  plans. 
"  London's  a  place  full  of  temptations  ir  you  have 
not  much  money;  but  it  will  be  like  losing 
the  sunshine  of  the  house  to  lose  you.  There's 
never  been  such  peace  and  harmony  under  this 
roof  as  since  you  came.  It  is  that  knack  you 
have  of  making  folks  feel  pleased  with  them- 


154  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

selves.  The  boarders  don't  grumble  half  so 
much  as  they  did;  and  as  for  Sarah,  it's  quite 
comfortable  to  live  with  her.  But  there,  I 
shouldn't  say  a  word;  I'm  a  selfish  woman 
even  to  mention  my  own  loss  when  it's  clearly 
for  the  best.  We'll  look  in  the  paper  for  a 
nice  easy  place  in  the  country  for  you ;  it'll 
be  time  enough  to  upset  Mrs.  Pederson  when 
that's  found" 

As  the  girl  was  going  up  to  her  own  room 
later  in  the  evening  Mrs.  Bateson  opened  the 
sitting-room  door  and  called  her  softly. 

"Are  you  too  tired  to  come  in  a  minute, 
my  dear  ? "  she  said,  excitedly  waving  a  copy 
of  a  weekly  literary  paper  to  which  Miss  Bird 
subscribed.  "  I  believe  there  is  something  here 
which  would  exactly  suit  you." 

Hilary  followed  her  into  the  back  room  and 
Mrs.  Bateson  shut  the  door. 

"  I  just  took  up  Miss  Bird's  paper  when  she 
went  out  to-night  and  caught  my  eye  on  this," 
she  said,  pointing  to  a  paragraph  at  the  head 
of  the  short  column.  "You're  half  a  French 
and  German  girl,  and  this  ought  to  suit  you  to 
the  ground,  as  Mr.  Bradbrook  says." 

Hilary  took  the  paper  and  read  the  adver- 
tisement carefully.  A  literary  man,  temporarily 


"  WHAT  BECAME  OF  THE  SOVEREIGNS?"    155 

forbidden  to  use  his  eyes,  wanted  a  secretary 
able  to  read  French  and  German  fluently,  for 
literary  purposes.  Further  particulars  were  to 
be  had  by  applying  personally  to  Mr.  Hilder, 
Fairmead,  Meadham,  Hertfordshire. 

Nothing  could  have  sounded  more  attractive 
to  the  girl,  and  it  was  the  first  advertisement 
she  had  seen  which  made  her  one  qualification 
a  condition. 

"It's  the  very  thing  I  should  like,"  she 
said  reflectively. 

"Yes,  the  exact  thing,"  nodded  Mrs. 
Bateson.  "You  must  apply  at  once,  my  dear. 
It's  a  pity  they  say  'apply  personally,'  for  it 
will  be  a  journey,  and  a  railway  fare  is  ex- 
pensive. For  all  that,  you  must  go  right 
off  to-morrow  morning.  I'll  see  that  Mrs. 
Pederson  wants  for  nothing  while  you  are 
gone.  I  believe  it  will  turn  out  the  very  thing, 
or  why  should  my  eyes  have  lit  on  a  paragraph 
in  a  paper  I  don't  look  at  once  in  a  twelve- 
month ?  It's  just  a  leading,  Miss  Hilary,  and 
you  go  to  Meadham  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning." 

"If  I  get  the  post  I  shall  owe  it  to  you, 
dear  Mrs.  Bateson,"  Hilary  said,  putting  her 
arm  affectionately  round  the  stout  shoulder, 


156  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECB. 

over  which  the  smart  gown  strained  ominously. 
"I  shall  never  forget  what  a  friend  you  have 
been  to  me  all  these  months." 

The  kind  little  woman  sniffed  audibly  and 
wiped  her  damp  forehead. 

"  Don't  you  say  nothing  of  that,  Miss  Hilary. 
I  would  gladly  keep  you  and  your  aunt  for 
nothing  if  I  could  afford  it.  You're  a  real  ray 
of  sunshine,  and  you  give  the  air  of  distinction 
to  the  table,  too.  If  the  boarders  were  all  like 
you  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to  keep  up  the 
establishment ;  but  there,  if  you  want  to  find 
politeness  and  consideration  you  must  look  for 
them  in  a  class  above  the  Hecklers  and 
Mosses  and  such  like  who,  poor  things,  don't 
know  any  better.  Bateson  always  voted 
Conservative  because,  he  said,  the  most  tip-top 
people  he  knew  were  the  pleasantest  to  deal 
with.  As  I  often  told  him,  the  rest  meant  no 
harm ;  but  if  you  are  very  near  the  mud,  you 
like  to  keep  calling  out  you  are  not  in  it,  or 
how  are  folks  to  know  ?  My  motto  has 
always  been,  take  people  as  you  find  them  and 
believe  that  they  mostly  mean  well." 


CHAPTER   XII. 

HILARY  TAKES  HER  OWN  WAY. 

VERY  early  next  morning  Hilary  got  up, 
dressed  herself  carefully  in  a  fresh  white  blouse, 
brushed  her  shabby  serge  skirt,  and  ran  down- 
stairs. It  was  scarcely  seven  o'clock,  and  none 
of  the  boarders  were  yet  astir.  Sarah  was 
sleepily  sweeping  the  front  steps,  and  stopped 
with  broom  suspended  to  stare  at  the  girl. 

"  My  word  1  you're  an  early  bird,  miss,"  she 
exclaimed.  "I'm  sure  I  would  not  leave  my 
bed  an  hour  before  I  need,  if  I  were  in  your 
shoes." 

"  I'm  going  into  the  country  this  morning, 
Sarah.  It  will  be  lovely  there  this  fine  day, 
won't  it  ?  I  wonder  if  cook  could  give  me  a 
cup  of  coffee  at  once  if  I  went  down  to  her. 
I  want  to  catch  the  9.15  from  St.  Pancras." 

"If  you  can  wait  till  I've  finished  these 
steps,  miss,  I'll  go  down  and  fetch  it  myself," 
said  Sarah.  "  I  daresay  cook  will  be  preparing 
our  breakfasts."  Sarah  had  a  reputation  among 
the  boarders  for  disobligingness,  but  she  never 


1 58  MRS.  PEDERSON' s  NIECE. 

hesitated  to  take  a  little  trouble  for  Miss 
Pederson. 

"And  if  you  would  not  mind  taking  my 
aunt  some  hot  water  at  nine  o'clock,  I  should 
have  a  heart  at  ease,  Sarah,"  Hilary  said 
pleasantly.  "  She  will  be  sure  to  miss  me  when 
she  wants  to  get  up." 

Sarah  agreed,  though  without  any  enthusiasm. 
She  disliked  waiting  on  Mrs.  Pederson,  who  was 
seldom  satisfied  with  any  service  rendered  her. 

It  was  a  brilliant  May  morning,  with  a  fore- 
taste of  summer  in  the  warm  spring  wind  and 
in  the  clear  blue  sky.  Even  in  Tozer  Street 
the  air  was  fresh,  and  the  sickly  plants  on  the 
window-sills  looked  less  depressed  than  was 
their  wont. 

Hilary  had  seen  nothing  of  rural  England, 
and  as  the  train  swept  through  the  country, 
leaving  behind  it  the  suburbs  of  the  great  city, 
whirling  past  undulating  meadows,  wooded  slopes, 
cool  and  green  in  the  early  morning  sunlight, 
she  looked  from  the  window  with  unconcealed 
delight.  It  was  a  little  more  than  an  hour's 
run  to  Meadham,  a  tiny,  sleepy  village,  nestling 
amid  stretches  of  farm-lands,  seemingly  un- 
heedful  of  the  bustle  and  business  of  the  big 
town  scarcely  a  couple  of  miles  away.  The 


HILARY  TAKES  HER  OWN  WAY.        159 

little  wayside  station  was  a  mile  from  the 
village,  and  the  country  folk  were  quite  content 
that  it  should  be  so.  They  did  not  want  its 
smoke  and  its  shrill  whistle  breaking  their 
peace  day  and  night.  So  long  as  the  train  was 
there  when  they  wanted  to  go  into  Bishop's 
Merton,  that  was  all  they  asked.  What  was 
a  mile  to  men  and  women  who  walked  three 
times  that  distance  to  their  daily  toil  ? 

How  clean  and  sweet  the  whole  neighbour- 
hood seemed  to  Hilary  as  she  left  the  station 
and  set  out  to  walk  to  Meadham.  In  London 
parks  the  first  tiny  leaves  on  the  lime-trees 
were  just  bursting  their  pointed  sheaths.  Here 
the  brown  boughs  were  draped  with  greenery 
and  the  hedgerows  white  with  blackthorn.  A 
river  gurgled  somewhere  out  of  sight,  and  there 
was  a  hum  of  bees  busy  among  the  early  wild 
flowers.  The  air  rang  with  innumerable  bird- 
notes,  clear  and  cheery,  and  across  the  fields 
some  church  bells,  calling  to  early  service, 
sounded  sweetly  on  the  pleasant  morning  breeze. 

Hilary  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  Fairmead, 
for  her  first  inquiry  elicited  the  fullest  informa- 
tion. Fairmead  was  evidently  a  place  of 
importance  in  the  neighbourhood. 

It  was  a  large  and  rambling  old  manor-house, 


160  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

set  in  its  own  well-wooded  grounds,  and  old 
enough  to  be  picturesque  without  being  pre- 
tentious. A  dark  holly-hedge  shut  it  in  from  the 
gaze  of  the  curious,  and  over  this  prickly  boundary 
the  purple  and  white  of  lilac  and  "  the  dropping 
wells"  of  golden  laburnum  nodded  to  the 
admiring  girl. 

This  May  day,  with  its  clear  sky  and  sun- 
shine, its  fragrance  of  flowers  and  young  foliage, 
showed  the  place  at  its  best. 

Hilary  found  a  gate  in  the  hedge,  and  walked 
up  the  path  to  the  house.  Not  a  sign  of 
human  habitation  encouraged  her  to  mount  the 
broad  flight  of  low  steps  which  led  to  the 
heavy,  oak-bound  door.  Her  knock  re-echoed 
through  the  silent  house  in  the  most  dis- 
concerting manner,  and  there  was  time  for 
her  to  feel  oddly  shy  before  footsteps  were 
heard  and  a  prim,  elderly  servant  opened  the 
door. 

She  looked  surprised  to  see  a  visitor  at  this 
early  hour,  and  in  reply  to  Hilary's  request  to 
see  Mr.  Hilder,  said  that  her  master  was  not 
seeing  callers  just  now. 

"  I  am  scarcely  a  visitor,"  said  Hilary  frankly. 
*'I  come  on  a  matter  of  business." 

"Then  perhaps  you    will    walk   in,    and   I 


HILARY  TAKES  HER  OWN  WAY.       161 

will  tell  my  mistress.  I  will  ask  her  if  she 
can  see  you." 

Hilary  followed  the  maid  across  a  wide,  tiled 
hall,  and  was  ushered  into  a  cool,  shaded 
drawing-room  with  many  windows  opened  on  a 
lovely,  old-fashioned  garden  which  reminded  her 
of  Madame  Brun's  garden  in  Paris.  The  room 
itself  was  one  of  those  quaint,  old-world  parlours 
only  seen  in  country  houses  which  have  been 
lived  in  for  generations  by  one  family.  There 
was  that  mingling  of  shabbiness  and  comfort,  that 
apparent  retention  of  this  or  that  from  affection 
rather  than  utility  or  decoration,  which  no 
upholsterer  can  give  to  a  house  "  furnished 
throughout  on  the  most  modern  and  artistic 
scale."  A  few  valuable  Romneys  and  Reynolds 
on  the  walls  drew  attention  from  the  faded 
draperies,  and  masses  of  golden  daffodils  in 
costly  jars  lit  up  dark  comers.  There  was  a 
little  fine  Chippendale  furniture  and  a  mantel- 
piece carved  by  Grinling  Gibbons,  and  though 
Hilary's  eyes  were  too  untrained  to  gauge  their 
real  merit,  she  approved  their  beauty. 

She  had  plenty  of  time  to  study  her  sur- 
roundings. An  hour  passed  before  the  door 
opened  and  there  entered  a  little  old  lady, 
for  whom  this  charming  room  seemed  the 


162  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECB. 

most  appropriate  setting.  She  was  exceedingly 
tiny,  quite  the  smallest  creature  Hilary  had 
ever  seen,  with  little  white,  blue-veined  hands 
,  and  dark,  deep-set  eyes,  which  flashed  in  quite 
a  youthful  way  from  her  faded  old  face.  She 
wore  a  long  grey  gown,  clinging  and  unrustling, 
and  a  black  lace  cap,  coming  to  a  point  on  her 
abundant  white  hair.  She  must  once  have  been 
very  beautiful ;  even  now  there  was  an  air  ol 
distinction  and  dignity  about  her,  despite  her 
diminutive  proportions. 

She  sat  down  in  a  high-backed  chair  and 
motioned  Hilary  to  sit  near  her. 

"You  inquired  for  Mr.  Hilder,  Miss  Peder- 
son.  Just  now  I  have  to  be  the  medium  be- 
tween him  and  callers.  He  is  suffering  from 
an  affection  of  the  eyes  and  only  sees  strangers 
on  the  most  urgent  business." 

"  I  came  in  answer  to  the  advertisement," 
Hilary  said,  wishing  she  did  not  feel  so  shy 
and  awkward.  "Mr.  Hilder  wants  a  secretary 
who  can  read  German  and  French.  I  have 
lived  so  long  abroad  that  I  speak  them  almost 
as  freely  as  my  native  tongue.  I  am  very 
anxious  to  get  some  post  which  will  bring  in 
a  little  money.  I  shall  be  most  awfully  glad 
if  Mr.  Hilder  will  try  me." 


HILARY  TAKES  HER  OWN  WAY.       163 

The  old  lady  looked  at  her  with  un- 
mistakable surprise  and  some  disapproval.  She 
was  a  very  old-fashioned  little  lady,  and  the 
boldness  of  the  modern  girl  in  entering  the 
arena  and  battling  with  her  brothers  for  a  live- 
lihood was  something  she  could  not  understand. 

"You  astonish  me,"  she  said,  shaking  her 
head.  "  I  am  sure  that  Mr.  Hilder  never  en- 
tertained the  idea  of  a  lady  secretary." 

"  Perhaps  the  idea  of  a  girl  doing  what  he 
wants  has  not  occurred  to  him,  but  it  may  not 
be  displeasing  when  it  is  suggested,"  urged 
Hilary,  gathering  courage.  "Many  girls  take 
such  posts,  you  know.  I  am  ready  to  work 
very  hard  to  please  him.  I'm  sure  he  will  find 
my  German  and  French  all  right." 

Mrs.  Hilder  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  a 
faint  smile  crossed  her  faded  old  face.  There 
was  something  very  attractive  about  this  eager, 
radiant  young  creature,  but  it  seemed  oddly  in- 
congruous to  think  of  her  earning  her  living. 

"Tell  me,  is  it  necessary  for  you  to  earn 
money,  my  child,  or  is  it  that  you  are  bitten  by 
the  modern  notions  concerning  independence 
and  freedom  to  do  as  fancy  dictates  ?  "  she  asked. 

Hilary's  colour  rose. 

"  It  is  necessary,   absolutely  necessary,"  she 


104  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECB. 

replied  quietly.  Then  something  in  the  old 
lady's  pitiful  ejaculation,  in  the  sweet,  old-world 
haste  with  which  she  apologised  for  putting  the 
embarrassing  question,  moved  the  girl  to  tell 
her  the  whole  story.  She  found  herself  pouring 
out  the  tale  of  Mrs.  Pederson's  losses,  the 
impossibility  of  their  remaining  at  Mrs.  Bateson's, 
and  her  own  determination  to  add  to  her 
income  and  to  save  her  aunt  the  discomforts 
which  were,  for  her,  actually  temptations. 

"If  you  can  do  what  Mr.  Hilder  requires 
you  shall  come,  my  poor  child,"  the  old  lady 
said,  feeling  that  she  was  about  to  pluck  a  brand 
from  the  burning.  "  I  will  go  up  to  him  at 
once.  Perhaps  he  will  be  able  to  see  you,  and 
the  whole  matter  can  be  settled." 

Left  alone,  Hilary  went  over  the  long  inter- 
view with  interest. 

"What  a  dear  old  ladyl  And  how  well  she 
has  mastered  the  art  of  growing  old  gracefully," 
she  thought.  "  If  only  Aunt  Sophie  would  take 
lessons  from  her  I  But  that  is  past  hoping  for. 
I  am  sure  she  will  do  her  best  to  persuade 
Mr.  Hilder  to  try  me.  I  hope  he  is  not  an 
obstinate  old  gentleman,  with  prejudices  against 
employing  what  Mr.  Bradbrook  generically 
terms  '  female  labour.' " 


HILARY  TAKES  HER  OWN  WAY.        165 

She  waited  ten  minutes,  then  the  maid 
who  admitted  her  opened  the  door  and  requested 
her  to  walk  up  to  the  library. 

Hilary  sprang  to  her  feet  with  alacrity.  It 
was  surely  a  good  omen  that  Mr.  Hilder  had 
consented  to  see  her.  She  followed  the  maid 
up  the  wide,  polished  staircase,  along  a  corridor 
hung  with  grim  family  portraits,  and  was 
ushered  into  a  large,  sunny  room,  lined  with 
books.  A  writing-table  stood  in  the  great  bow 
window,  and  in  an  armchair  before  it  sat  a 
man,  who  rose  hastily  to  his  feet  as  she 
entered. 

Hilary  stared  at  him  with  a  startled  face 
as  she  dropped  into  the  chair  Mrs.  Hilder 
pointed  out  to  her.  It  was  patent  she  had 
mistaken  the  relation  between  the  old  lady  and 
the  young  man  who  now  moved  slowly  across 
the  room,  to  anchor  on  the  hearthrug. 

"  My  son,  this  is  the  young  lady  of  whom 
I  spoke  to  you,"  Mrs.  Hilder  said  gently. 
"  You  will  be  glad  to  know,  Miss  Pederson,  that 
my  son  has  no  prejudices  against  employing 
a  lady  secretary,  provided  other  things  are 
equal."  She  sat  down  as  she  spoke  in  the 
chair  Mr.  Hilder  had  vacated,  and  smiled  en- 
couragingly at  the  girl. 


1 66  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

Hilary  expressed  her  pleasure  rather  nervously. 
She  was  more  anxious  than  ever  to  obtain  this 
post,  and  decided,  in  her  impetuous  way,  that 
she  would  love  to  work  for  the  man,  who  now 
began  to  question  her  concerning  her  various 
qualifications. 

She  looked  at  him  long  and  pitifully. 
There  was  this  sad  privilege  in  being  Max 
Hilder's  companion ;  he  could  not  know 
however  intently  you  studied  him,  however 
sorrowful  the  gaze  fixed  on  his  face.  He  was 
a  tall,  broadly  built  young  Saxon,  with  a 
quantity  of  light  brown  hair  falling  in  loose  waves 
about  his  white  and  smooth  forehead.  A  dis- 
figuring shade  hid  the  upper  part  of  his  face, 
but  the  firm  chin,  the  curve  of  the  clean-shaven 
cheek,  suggested  that  it  was  strong  and  manly, 
if  not  handsome. 

"And  you  are  ready  to  pity  the  sorrows  of 
a  blind  beggar,  Miss  Pederson  ?  "  he  said  lightly. 
"All  other  things  being  equal,  I  would  rather 
have  a  woman  for  my  work  than  a  man.  He 
would  not  be  able  to  keep  the  insolence  of 
his  own  health  and  his  '  thank-God-I-am-not-as- 
this-other-man '  out  of  his  tone  and  manner. 
It  is  one  thing  to  bear  your  infirmities  and 
quite  another  to  have  them  thrust  upon  your 


HILARY  TAKES  HER  OWN  WAY.        167 

notice."  He  ended  with  a  laugh,  which  touched 
Hilary  more  than  bitterness  could  have  done, 
it  was  so  frank  and  cheery.  It  was  manifest 
that  however  the  world  was  darkened  for  the 
man,  he  meant  to  show  it  an  unruffled  front 
and  meet  the  blows  "with  sword  broken  but 
unbroken  courage."  She  could  imagine  him 
crying  with  Heine,  "Let  me  grow  old  in  body, 
but  let  my  soul  stay  young;  let  my  voice 
quaver  and  falter,  but  never  my  hope." 

"  I  will  do  my  very  best ;  I  will  work  hard," 
she  said  impulsively.  "Will  you  explain  what 
the  duties  would  be,  and  see  if  my  knowledge 
is  up  to  your  requirements,  Mr.  Hilder  ? " 

He  smiled.  "The  duties  are  simple.  I  am 
preparing  a  book  on  French  and  German  folk- 
tales, and  your  duties,  put  briefly,  would  be  to 
read  to  me,  to  write  at  my  dictation,  and  to 
look  up  points  I  want  verified.  I  expect  I 
shall  be  an  autocratic  master,  for  I  am  not 
accustomed  to  using  anyone's  brains  but  my  own, 
and  one  does  not  stop  to  measure  the  labour 
of  one's  own  hand  and  mind.  By  the  way,  you 
might  read  me  a  page  or  two  of  German. 
Since  you  have  been  in  school  in  Paris  your 
French  will  be  sure  to  be  all  right.  There  is 
a  copy  of  the  'Reise  Bilder'  on  that  small 


1 68  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

table.  Open  it  where  the  marker  is  put  and 
read  on." 

Hilary  found  the  book,  and  began  to  read  in 
in  her  clear,  vibrant  voice.  The  book  was  new 
to  her,  and  she  soon  became  interested  in  it  j 
something  in  the  bitter-sweet  lines  of  the 
German  poet  made  her  think  of  the  blind 
student  who  was  listening  to  her;  like  Heine, 
he  was  suffering  under  a  heavy  disability,  and, 
like  the  poet,  he  had  set  himself  to  bear  it 
with  unfaltering  courage  and  a  mirthful  spirit. 

She  read  on,  scarcely  noting  the  time,  till  Mr. 
Hilder  stopped  her. 

"  Thank  you,  that  will  do.  You  read 
splendidly,  Miss  Pederson.  I  shall  think  myself 
lucky  to  have  your  help  with  my  work.  Did 
my  mother  tell  you  that  the  engagement  was 
really  only  a  temporary  affair  ?  I  hope  to  be 
a  whole  man  again  in  the  autumn,  and  the 
engagement  therefore  can  scarcely  last  more 
than  three  months.  Do  you  care  to  come  to 
me  on  such  terms  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  will  come,"  said  Hilary.  "  I  gathered 
from  the  advertisement  that  it  was  not  per- 
manent. I  shall  be  glad  to  do  what  I  can  in 
that  time." 

"Then  it  is  settled.      I  can't  talk  more  now. 


HILARY  TAKES  HER  OWN  WAY.       169 

My  mother  will  arrange  with  you  about  terms 
and  that  kind  of  thing,"  he  said.  "Mother, 
are  you  going  to  give  Miss  Pederson  some  lunch 
now  ?  I  see  that  it  is  time  for  Gregory  to  bring 
mine,  and  fellow-feeling  makes  us  wondrous  kind. 
Don't  you  agree  with  the  famous  Mr.  Pepys, 
Miss  Pederson,  that  one's  amiability  is  apt  to 
suffer  when  one  is  '  empty '  ?  " 

Hilary  laughed,  and  followed  Mrs.  Hilder 
from  the  room. 

"  My  dear,  you  are  his  first  visitor,  and  he  is 
tired,"  the  old  lady  said  apologetically.  "He 
will  not  dismiss  his  visitors  quite  so  abruptly  in 
a  week's  time." 

"  Has  he  been  very  ill  ? "  asked  Hilary 
sympathetically. 

"Not  perhaps  as  you  would  count  illness, 
my  dear,"  Mrs.  Hilder  said,  looking  into  the 
radiant,  healthy  young  face.  "There  are  things 
harder  to  bear  and  more  truly  wearing  to  the 
system  than  bodily  pain,  though  Max  has  had 
his  share  of  that  also.  Six  months  ago  he 
caught  a  fever  in  Perugia,  and  something  went 
wrong  with  his  eyes.  You  can  guess  what  that 
meant  to  him.  It  threatened  to  blight  his 
whole  literary  career.  He  went  to  Wiesbaden 
as  soon  as  he  was  well  enough  to  travel,  to 


170  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

consult  Pagenstecher,  the  famous  oculist 
Pagenstecher  sent  him  home  at  once.  He 
could  do  nothing  for  him  then  ;  he  told  him 
to  give  the  eyes  complete  rest  and,  in  the 
autumn,  to  go  again  to  Wiesbaden  for  an 
operation.  Though  the  oculist  is  hopeful,  he  has 
warned  us  that  it  may  not  be  successful." 

"  If  not — oh,  how  sad  I "  said  Hilary,  tears 
starting  to  her  eyes. 

Mrs.  Hilder  smiled  faintly. 

"It  almost  broke  my  heart;  but  I  have 
compensations  even  in  this  trouble.  No 
sorrow  is  without  its  mitigations.  The  old 
know  it,  though  the  young  find  it  hard  to 
believe.  They  have  no  memory  of  outlived 
sorrows  to  learn  from,  as  we  have.  I  have 
my  boy's  company,  which  I  had  not  in  his 
days  of  health  and  work.  It  has  made  me 
very  glad  to  find  him  anxious  to  take  up  again 
the  thread  of  his  studies.  It  was  terrible  to 
see  him,  in  the  first  weeks  of  his  darkness, 
sitting  idle,  and  almost  speechless,  after  a  life 
so  full  and  bright  as  his  has  been.  He  wa 
heroically  patient,  but  passive  patience  is  a 
dreary  thing  to  watch.  He  is  patient  still,  but 
it  is  with  that  noble  patience  which  is  concen- 
trated strength.  He  has  adjusted  himself  to 


HILARY  TAKES  HER  OWN  WAV.       171 

life  as  it  is,  and  with  your  help,  he  may  do  his 
best  work  this  summer." 

"I  will  do  all  I  can,"  repeated  Hilary, 
feeling  that  the  simple  words  only  feebly 
expressed  all  she  meant  to  achieve. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

A  COTTAGE  IN  A  WOOD. 

OVER  luncheon  the  details  of  Hilary's  engage- 
ment were  arranged.  She  was  to  receive  forty 
pounds  a  year  and  to  spend  five  hours  each 
day  at  Fairraead.  Hilary  decided  that  she 
was  singularly  fortunate ;  with  this  addition 
to  her  income  she  could  hope  to  make  Aunt 
Sophie  more  comfortable  than  she  had  been 
since  leaving  Markham  Square. 

"There  is  the  question  of  your  lodgings, 
Miss  Pederson,"  Mrs.  Hilder  said,  as  they 
rose  from  the  table.  "I  have  lived  so  long 
in  Meadham  that  no  doubt  I  can  help  you." 

"  Lodgings  ! "  exclaimed  Hilary,  making  a 
wry  face.  "I  have  suffered  so  much  in  other 
people's  houses  that  I  hoped  it  would  be 
possible  to  take  a  cottage,  even  if  it  were  a  very 
small  one." 

"  Possible,  of  course,  but  imprudent,"  said  Mrs. 
Hilder.  "  You  see,  my  dear,  your  engagement  is 
actually  only  a  temporary  one.  At  the  end 
of  three  or  four  months  Mr.  Hilder  will  go  to 


A  COTTAGE  IN  A  WOOD.  173 

Germany,  and  on  his  return  he  may  need 
you  no  longer.  I  cannot  buoy  you  up  with 
the  faintest  hope  of  finding  another  position  in 
this  quiet  neighbourhood." 

Hilary  laughed  and  nodded.  "  I  always  for- 
get the  poet's  advice  to  'look  before  and  after. 
Of  course,  it  must  be  lodgings,  though  I  say  it 
with  keenest  regret." 

"That  need  not  depress  you,  my  dear. 
Your  experiences  perhaps  have  been  unpleasant," 
said  Mrs.  Hilder.  "  I  have  something  to 
propose  which  I  think  will  suit  you."  She 
went  to  the  window  and  drew  back  the  lace 
curtain.  "Do  you  see  that  red  roof  peeping 
from  among  the  trees  beyond  the  shrubbery  ? 
A  niece  of  mine,  the  widow  of  a  London 
doctor,  lives  there.  Her  means  are  not  large, 
and  the  house  is  more  roomy  than  she  requires 
for  her  own  needs.  I  believe  she  would  take 
you  and  your  aunt  to  board  with  her  if  I 
suggested  it.  I  could  wish  you  no  better 
fortune  than  to  live  under  Agnes  Vision's  roof. 
To  know  her  is  a  liberal  education." 

Hilary  looked  apprehensive.  Such  a  re- 
markable woman  might  be  difficult  to  please ; 
and  how  would  she  stand  Aunt  Sophie's  many 
eccentricities  ? 


1/4  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

Mrs.  Hilder  seemed  to  anticipate  no 
objections.  "Suppose  we  go  at  once  and  see 
her,"  she  said.  "She  is  leaving  Meadham  in 
a  day  or  two  to  visit  some  of  her  husband's 
relatives  in  Russia,  so  that  for  a  few  weeks  you 
and  your  aunt  might  expect  to  have  the  house 
to  yourselves.  You  would  have  no  trouble, 
however,  on  that  score,  for  Mrs.  Vision's 
servants  thoroughly  understand  the  care  of 
the  house." 

Evidently  considering  her  small  lace  cap 
sufficient  head- covering  for  the  short  walk  to 
Mead  Cottage,  Mrs.  Hilder  stepped  out  on 
the  terrace,  and  with  Hilary  at  her  side  went 
down  the  large,  well-kept  garden.  Near  as  the 
cottage  had  appeared,  it  was  five  minutes'  walk 
from  Fairmead.  A  rustic  bridge  crossed  a 
little  stream  which  flowed  beyond  the  belt 
of  firs,  then  a  little  spinney,  carpeted  with 
primroses,  had  to  be  traversed  before  they 
were  at  the  gate  of  the  quaint,  red-roofed 
cottage. 

Mrs.  Vision  was  in  the  porch  nailing  up  a 
climbing  rose-bush  when  her  visitors  came  up 
the  pebbled  path.  She  put  down  her  hammer 
and  came  forward  to  meet  them,  glancing  past 
Mrs.  Hilder's  grey-clad  figure  to  her  tall 


A  COTTAGE  IN  A  WOOD.  175 

companion  with  a  faint  expression  of  surprise. 
It  was  seldom  that  visitors  came  to  Fairmead, 
and  never  once  since  its  master's  illness. 

All  Hilary's  compunctions  vanished  as  she 
looked  at  Mrs.  Vision. 

"I'm  like  the  Queen  of  Sheba,  the  half 
was  not  told  me,"  she  said  mentally.  "I've 
only  seen  three  Meadham  people,  and  each  one 
is  a  miracle  of  niceness.  What  a  favoured  spot 
it  must  be  1 " 

Mrs.  Vision  was  a  tall,  fair  woman,  verging 
on  thirty.  She  was  not  handsome,  for  her 
features  were  too  heavily  moulded  for  beauty, 
but  both  her  face  and  her  amply  proportioned 
figure  had  that  air  of  distinction  which  Balzac 
declares  the  most  precious  gift  that  can  be 
bestowed  upon  a  woman.  She  wore  a  loose, 
graceful  gown  of  some  rich  black  material 
hanging  in  large  folds  which  reminded  Hilary 
of  the  drapery  of  a  Greek  statue  she  had  seen 
at  the  British  Museum. 

"How  kind  of  you  to  come  over  to  see 
me,  Aunt  Lucia,"  she  said  in  a  low,  musical 
voice.  "I  am  all  alone.  The  maids  have  gone 
to  Bishop's  Merton  for  a  day's  shopping." 

"It  is  a  business  call,  not  a  social  function," 
said  Mrs.  Hilder,  introducing  Hilary.  "You 


176  MRS.  PBDERSON'S  NIECE. 

might  be  sure  it  was  something  more  than 
trivial  which  brought  me  out  at  this 
hour." 

In  a  few  words  she  explained  Hilary's 
presence  and  what  she  hoped  Mrs.  Vision  might 
be  able  to  do  for  her. 

There  was  no  small  pride  about  Agnes  Vision. 
She  thanked  her  aunt,  and  agreed  that  it  would 
be  a  pecuniary  advantage  to  her  to  let  some 
of  her  rooms.  She  offered  at  once  to  show 
the  girl  those  at  her  disposal,  and  led  the  way 
into  the  house. 

Nothing  could  have  been  in  greater  contrast 
to  the  "Select  Establishment"  under  the  roof 
of  which  Hilary  had  spent  the  past  seven 
months  than  Mead  Cottage.  It  showed  in 
every  detail  the  influence  of  a  refined  and 
cultured  mistress.  The  furniture  was  simple,  but 
the  best  of  its  kind,  and  save  for  the  ferns 
and  flowers  on  every  side,  there  was  that 
absence  of  ornamentation  which  is  often  the 
highest  form  of  art 

Two  bedrooms  and  a  pleasant  little  sitting- 
room,  looking  out  on  the  garden  and  the  fir 
wood  beyond,  were  offered  the  girl  at  a  price 
so  well  within  her  means  that  she  gladly  agreed 
to  take  them.  Mrs.  Vision  promised  that  they 


A  COTTAGE  IN  A  WOOD.  177 

should  be  ready  for  her  at  the  end  ol  the 
following  week,  when  the  girl's  work  with  Mr. 
Hilder  began. 

"I  shall  love  to  be  here,  Mrs.  Vision," 
Hilary  said  impulsively.  "Your  house  seems 
more  like  home  to  me  than  any  place  I  have 
been  in  since  I  left  Madame  Bran's.  I  feel" — 
she  hesitated,  and  laughed  shyly — "  I  feel  as 
though  I  could  breathe  here.  In  London,  it  is 
often  so  difficult  to  aspire  and  respire  at  the 
same  time." 

"I  know;  I  have  felt  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Vision,  laying  her  large,  shapely  hand  on 
the  girl's  shoulder  as  they  stood  together 
in  the  little  square  hall.  Some  women  would 
have  kissed  the  frank,  radiant  face,  but  she 
was  not  one  who  gave  kisses  readily,  and  dis- 
liked people  who  used  them,  like  asterisks,  to 
fill  up  awkward  places  in  a  conversation.  "I 
think  we  shall  understand  each  other;  though, 
since  I  am  going  away  and  your  engagement 
is  a  short  one,  we  may  not  see  much  of  one 
another.  I  am  glad  to  think  you  are  coming 
under  my  roof" 

"And  I  am  more  than  glad,"  cried  Hilary 
impetuously.  "It  will  make  up  for  so  much  I 
can  never  explain.  There  is  something  about 


178  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

Meadham  and  the  people  in  it  that  sweetens 
the  mind.  I  may  hope  now  to  keep  my  taste 
for  the  best  things;  I  used  to  think  it  was 
impossible  to  lose  it,  but  I  know  now  it  is 
astonishingly  easy." 

Mrs.  Vision  looked  at  her  intently.  There 
was  something  more  behind  that  laughing  face 
and  that  frank,  boyish  manner  than  she  had 
suspected. 

"  The  struggle  repays,  child,  never  doubt 
that,"  she  said  quickly.  "The  most  finely 
tempered  steel  is  that  which  passes  the  severest 
tests.  In  the  moral  as  well  as  the  physical 
world,  the  survival  of  the  fittest  is  the  law 
upon  which  the  whole  fabric  of  ethics  is 
built." 

Hilary  sighed.  So  far  from  feeling  that  her 
own  afflictions  had  been  a  means  of  edification, 
she  had  never  seemed  to  herself  so  weak  and 
faulty  as  during  the  last  few  months.  Emotions 
and  failings  never  suspected  in  serener  days  had 
come  to  light  and  shamed  her.  She  was  too 
young  and  too  little  given  to  introspection  to 
know  that  it  was  only  through  growth  she  had 
come  now  to  discover  them.  More  light  means 
more  revelatory  power.  Her  character  had 
strengthened,  and  her  moral  fibre  become  finer 


A  COTTAGE  IN  A  WOOD.  179 

through  the  troubles  she  had  borne  of  late. 
She  saw  things  to  which  once  her  eyes  were 
holden. 

As  she  travelled  back  to  London,  she  began 
to  wonder  how  her  aunt  would  regard  the  step 
she  had  taken.  It  was  impossible  but  that  Mrs. 
Pederson  should  object  to  leave  town.  Hilary, 
however,  hoped  to  convince  her  that  it  was  the 
wisest  and  indeed  the  only  possible  step.  Her 
taking  of  the  sovereigns  from  Hilary's  purse  had 
practically  put  it  out  of  her  power  to  refuse  to 
accompany  her  niece. 

Hilary  might  leave  her,  and  thereby  give  up 
her  right  to  the  legacy  left  her  by  Major 
Pederson,  but  no  dividends  were  due  for  months, 
and  Mrs.  Bateson  would  not  consent  to  keep 
Mrs.  Pederson  without  any  payments.  Hilary 
hoped  and  confidently  believed  that  she  could 
persuade  her  aunt  to  come  to  Meadham,  without 
using  her  dependence  as  a  handle,  and  she 
meant  to  spare  no  pains  to  do  it.  Yet  if  Mrs. 
Pederson  absolutely  refused  to  come,  the  girl 
told  herself  that  now  she  would  be  justified  in 
leaving  her.  The  life  at  Mrs.  Bateson's  had 
become  impossible,  and  she  was  right  in  accept- 
ing the  clean  and  wholesome  path  of  honour- 
able work  which  was  open  to  her.  She  would 


i8o  MRS.  PsDERSorfs  NIECE. 

certainly  have  Frances  on  her  side,  and  she 
resolved  at  the  first  opportunity  to  go  to  Skone 
Street  and  tell  her  friend  what  she  had 
arranged. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

A  CADMEAN  VICTORY. 

IT  was  dusk  when  Hilary  reached  Tozer  Street, 
the  dusk  of  a  spring  evening  in  town,  grey  and 
dull. 

Mrs.  Bateson  opened  the  door  as  though 
she  had  been  on  the  watch. 

"  It  is  all  right ;  I  come  home  crowned  with 
success,  so  congratulate  me,  you  dear  woman,'" 
Hilary  cried,  anticipating  her  eager  question. 
"No,  I  won't  have  any  tea,  thank  you.  I, 
shall  just  have  time  to  dress  for  dinner  and 
explain  my  absence  to  Aunt  Sophie.  I  suppose 
she  is  still  upstairs." 

Mrs.  Bateson  puckered  her  forehead  and 
looked  worried. 

"She  has  not  come  back  yet,  my  dear1;  she 
went  out  unbeknowst  to  me  directly  after 
luncheon.  A  gentleman  called  twice  this  after- 
noon to  see  her,  and  told  Sarah  he  had  an 
appointment  Miss  Kemsing  came  a  while  ago, 
too,  and  she  is  waiting  upstairs  in  your  room." 

Hilary  looked  troubled  as  she  ran   upstairs. 


1 82  MRS.  PEDER  SON'S  NIECE. 

She  wished  she  had  asked  Mrs.  Bateson  for  a 
description  of  the  visitor;  she  had  a  gloomy 
conviction  that  it  could  be  no  other  than  Chivers 
Smith. 

Frances  was  sitting  reading  in  the  light  of 
a  small  fire  she  had  lighted,  though  in  the 
Bateson  establishment  a  fire  in  a  bedroom  was 
a  luxury  only  justified  by  dire  extremity. 

"Well,  you  and  the  mater  are  in  festive 
mood  to-day,  my  good  child,"  she  said, 
rising  and  saluting  the  newcomer.  "I  arrive 
anxious  to  know  how  you  are  surviving  the 
barbarities  of  this  place,  and  find  that  the  mater 
has  not  been  home  since  luncheon  and  that  no 
one  has  seen  you  since  the  screech  of  dawn.  It 
was  lucky  I  brought  my  anatomy  books  with  me 
or  I  could  not  have  waited.  Get  a  light,  please, 
before  you  disrobe.  I  know  you  have  a  weakness 
for  the  gloaming,  but  I  hate  it.  As  Charles 
Lamb  once  said,  it's  so  inconvenient  to  have  to 
feel  your  companion's  face  for  the  responsive 
smile." 

Hilary  laughed,  but  the  laugh  did  not  ring 
so  blithely  as  usual,  and  Frances  looked  up  at 
her  sharply. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Hilary?  You  look 
tired,  and  you  are  positively  getting  thin. 


A  CADMEAN  VICTORY.  183 

know  man  is  born  to  trouble  as  the  sparks  fly 
upward  and  that  we  girls  cannot  expect  to  es- 
cape our  share,  but  has  anything  fresh  occurred  ?  " 

Hilary  shook  her  head  as  she  stretched  and 
straightened  her  gloves  thoughtfully.  Suddenly 
she  looked  at  Frances  with  a  whimsical  smile 
curving  her  mouth. 

"  Like  Noph,  I  have  distresses  daily,  but  I 
have  taken  desperate  measures  to  escape  them 
altogether.  I  am  going  to  surprise  you,  Frances." 

"My  dear  child,  it  is  the  way  of  the  foolish 
to  confound  the  wise,"  Frances  said  languidly.  "  If 
you  can  explain  your  meaning  without  being 
too  oracular,  please  do  so." 

Hilary  dropped  on  the  hearthrug  at  Frances' 
feet. 

"I'll  burst  the  fact  on  you  without  preface 
or  preamble.  I  have  this  day  arranged  to 
leave  'Bateson's  Select  Establishment/  and  to 
take  up  my  abode  in  a  sleepy  little  village  in 
Hertfordshire,  named  Meadham." 

"I  always  knew  you  hankered  after  fresh 
fields  and  pastures  new,  but  I  thought  it  was 
a  question  of  pounds,  shillings  and  pence,"  said 
Frances. 

"  Yes,  it  could  not  be  done  on  ninety  pounds 
a  year,  nor  could  we  stay  here  under  the  same 


1 84  MRS.  PEDER  SON'S  NIECE. 

luxurious  conditions.  I  am  going  to  add  to 
our  fortune  by  my  own  exertions.  Behold  me 
the  secretary  of  a  literary  man,  engaged  to 
assist  in  the  production  of  an  epoch-making 
work  on  French  and  German  folk-tales.  The 
whole  business  is  settled,  even  to  the  secondary 
matter  of  lodgings.  The  only  detail  to  be  filled 
in  is  the  breaking  of  the  news  to  Aunt  Sophie 
and  the  gaining  of  her  consent  to  this  radical 
change  in  our  fortunes." 

Frances  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  let  her 
beloved  "Anatomy"  slide  unheeded  to  the  floor. 

''Well,  for  independence  and  sheer  audacity 
commend  me  to  Hilary  Pederson  1  To  go  and 
do  such  a  thing  without  consulting  a  soul  1 
Of  course,  I  would  not  have  allowed  you  to 
do  it.  You  should  have  had  half  my  princely 
income.  I  would  even  have  extended  to  the 
mater  the  shelter  of  my  palatial  roof,  though 
she  would  be  a  dreadful  person  to  have  about 
one,  when  one  happened  to  be  undergoing  a 
mental  strain.  And,  pray,  what  sort  of  a  man 
is  this  for  whom  you  have  agreed  to  drudge  ?" 

Hilary  leaned  back,  her  hands  clasped  behind 
her  head,  pressing  forward  her  loose  wavy  hair, 
as  she  studied  the  cracked,  discoloured  ceiling. 

"I  can  guess  the  sort  of  man  you  are  pic- 


A  CADMEAN  VICTORY.  185 

turing,"  she  said  gaily.  "A  wide  experience 
of  learned  professors  has  taught  you  to  know 
the  type ;  but  you  will  be  hopelessly  at  fault 
on  this  occasion.  My  professor  happens  to  be 
a  young  man  of  thirty  or  so — quite  the  most 
charming  age  for  a  man,  isn't  it  ?  All  men 
ought  to  be  thirty.  I  should  say  he  was  hand- 
some, though  when  you  are  shown  only  the 
lower  part  of  a  face  it  is  rather  difficult  to 
be  sure.  Did  I  tell  you  that  he  was  suffering 
with  his  eyes  and  remained  hidden  behind  a 
green  shade  ?  Hence  the  need  for  my  services." 
She  ended  with  a  little  laugh,  in  which  Frances 
could  not  help  joining. 

"Is  there  anything  on  earth  you  can  be 
serious  about,  Hilary  ? "  she  exclaimed. 

"If  there  is  anything  on  earth  the  better 
for  being  whined  about,  tell  me/'  Hilary  re- 
plied quickly. 

Frances  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Perhaps 
you  are  right.  I  learned  long  ago  that  the 
things  one  cries  over  are  seldom  worth  it 
There's  nothing  satisfies  like  work." 

At  this  moment  a  heavy  step  was  heard 
on  the  stairs,  and  a  voice  called  Hilary  A 
minute  later  Mrs.  Bateson  opened  the  door  and 
looked  in  with  an  agitated  face. 


1 86  MRS.  PEDERSON' s  NIECE. 

"Please  come  down,  my  dears,  do,"  she 
said.  "  Mr.  Bradbrook  has  brought  poor  Mrs. 
Pederson  home  in  a  cab.  He  says  he  found 
her  in  a  faint  somewhere  up  the  Marble  Arch 
way.  She  had  slipped  getting  off  a  bus,  he 
said,  and  the  fright  made  her  a  bit  queer.  She 
looks  bad  now,  poor  dear." 

The  girls  flew  down  the  stairs.  Halfway  they 
met  Mr.  Bradbrook  assisting  the  fainting  woman 
to  her  own  room  with  a  skill  and  kindliness  which 
made  Hilary  regret  that  she  had  constantly 
snubbed  his  efforts  towards  friendliness. 

"No  cause  for  alarm,  Miss  Pederson,"  he 
said  cheerfully.  "The  old  lady  will  be  as  right 
as  a  trivet  when  you  get  her  into  her  own  bed. 
A  good  meal  and  a  night's  rest  will  mend  all 
that's  wrong.  Slipping  off  a  bus  when  you  have 
been  trapesing  about  all  day  without  a  good 
square  meal,  is  apt  to  try  the  strongest  of  us." 

Mrs.  Pederson  was  too  worn  out  to  resent 
these  personalities  on  the  part  of  a  young  man 
she  cordially  detested.  She  allowed  herself  to 
be  half  carried,  half  dragged  up  the  steep  stair- 
case, and  resigned  herself  unprotestingly  into  the 
hands  of  Hilary  and  Frances.  The  younger  girl 
lingered  a  moment  at  the  door  to  thank  Mr. 
Bradbrook  for  his  kindness. 


A  CADMEAN  VICTORY.  187 

"Don't  mention  it,  please,  Miss  Hilary. 
Isn't  Mrs.  Bateson  always  telling  us  we  are 
one  family  ?  and  relations  are  bound  to  stand 
by  one  another  in  little  mishaps,"  he  said 
airily.  "  I'd  do  a  sight  more  to  ease  the 
burdens  on  your  shoulders.  Sam  Bradbrook 
can  see  as  far  through  a  stone  wall  as  most 
people,  and  the  old  lady  leans  rather  heavy  on 
you." 

Hilary  stiffened  and  her  colour  rose.  Oh, 
why  could  they  not  be  kind  without  inter- 
meddling in  her  private  worries  ?  She  opened 
her  lips  to  reply,  then  turned  away  quickly, 
entered  the  room,  and  shut  the  door  behind  her. 

The  insurance  agent  stood  for  a  minute  look- 
ing after  her,  whistling  softly. 

"  Poor  little  girl !  it  hurts  her  to  be  under  an 
obligation  to  a  third-class  fellow  like  Sam 
Bradbrook,"  he  said.  "He  ain't  her  sort,  I 
suppose.  It  must  be  a  bit  of  a  nuisance  to 
be  poor  and  proud  if  you  are  forced  to  herd 
with  common  mortals." 

Mrs.  Pederson  had  recovered  somewhat  when 
Hilary  entered.  She  was  sitting  before  the  fire, 
stretching  out  her  thin  hands  to  the  blaze. 

"It's  an  attack  of  the  heart,  Miss  Kemsing 
says,"  whispered  Mrs.  Bateson  sympathetically. 


1 88  MRS.  PEDERSON' s  NIECE. 

"  It's  lucky  Miss  Kemsing  was  here,  for  she  is 
three  parts  a  doctor  and  knows  what  to  do. 
I  wish  I  could  stay  with  you,  but  I  must  run 
down  and  serve  the  dinner.  Folks  must  feed 
whatever  happens.  It's  the  one  thing  that  never 
stands  aside  for  other  people's  troubles." 

She  bustled  away,  and  Hilary  came  and 
knelt  down  beside  her  aunt.  "  Do  you  feel 
better,  dear  ?  "  she  said  gently.  "  You  must  have 
gone  far  to  tire  yourself  so  much." 

"  Far  I  I  don't  remember,"  Mrs.  Pederson 
said  dully.  "It  was  something  important  took 
me  out.  I  had  to  go.  I  can't  remember  now 
why  I  went" 

"  Don't  try  to  remember,  mother ;  it  is  bad 
for  you  to  worry  yourself,"  Frances  said 
soothingly. 

"  Why  should  you  interfere  ?  "  Mrs.  Pederson 
retorted  sharply.  "It  is  a  matter  which  con- 
cerns only  Hilary  and  me,  Frances.  You  have 
no  lot  nor  part  in  my  private  business." 

Frances  looked  away  quickly.  She  owned 
that  it  was  just  for  Hilary  to  take  the  first 
place  in  her  mother's  confidences.  She  had 
deliberately  withdrawn  herself  from  participa- 
tion in  them.  Yet  those  few  minutes  spent 
alone  with  her  mother,  using  her  skill  to 


A  CADMEAN  VICTORY.  189 

alleviate  her  mother's  pain,  had  taught  the  girl 
that  she  loved  her  better  than  she  guessed.  She 
was  honestly  glad  to  make  the  discovery,  and 
would  have  rejoiced  had  Mrs.  Pederson  shown 
any  desire  for  her  help  and  presence.  Yet 
it  was  to  Hilary  the  invalid  turned  when  she 
recovered  full  consciousness,  and  for  Hilary  she 
reserved  her  confidences.  Well,  it  was  best 
so,  perhaps ;  she,  Frances,  had  her  own  work  to 
do,  work  which  taxed  all  her  faculties,  absorbed 
all  her  thoughts,  and  demanded  her  whole 
future. 

It  was  not  till  an  hour  after,  when  Frances 
had  gone  away  and  Hilary  was  seated  by  the 
bed,  bathing  the  invalid's  forehead  and  fanning 
her  gently,  that  Mrs.  Pederson  told  what  had 
taken  her  out  that  day. 

"I'm  a  wicked  woman,  Hilary,  and  you  had 
better  go  away  and  leave  me,"  she  said 
hysterically.  "Paul  Kemsing  has  offered  you  a 
home,  you  had  better  go  to  him.  I  can't  live 
like  this,  and  it  is  no  use  for  me  to  try.  I 
can't  live  without  money ;  and  I  won't  either, 
when  there's  so  many  ways  of  making  it.  I 
promised  you  that  I  would  not  go  to  Chivers 
Smith  again,  but  it  was  a  stupid  promise  to 
make.  He  says  the  Bultang  Gold  Mine  is 


190  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

paying  magnificent  dividends,  and  I'm  a  fool  not 
to  borrow  a  few  hundreds  of  him  and  put  in  it." 

"Surely  you  have  not  been  borrowing 
again,  Aunt  Sophie  ? "  Hilary  asked,  her  heart 
feeling  like  lead.  "You  promised  me,  you 
know." 

Mrs.  Pederson  plucked  at  the  counterpane 
nervously.  "  I  went  out  to-day,  Hilary,  because  I 
wouldn't  see  Chivers  Smith.  I  have  put  a  little 
money  into  one  or  two  things  of  his — a  pound 
or  two,  nothing  much,  but  I  haven't  borrowed. 
He  was  coming  here  to-day  to  arrange  a  loan." 

Hilary  frowned.  "He  did  call.  He  came 
twice,  and  seemed  annoyed  not  to  find  you  at 
home." 

Mrs.  Pederson  nodded  drearily.  "  I  had 
written  asking  him  to  call.  I  was  sick  of 
being  without  money,  and  the  prospectus  he 
sent  was  splendid.  You  need  not  look  at  me. 
as  though  I  were  not  fit  to  breathe  the  same 
air  as  you,  girl.  I  broke  my  promise  in  writing 
to  him,  but  I  did  not  see  him,  so  no  harm  is 
done." 

"I'm  not  blaming  you,"  Hilary  said  sadly. 
WI  can  see  it  is  hard  for  you.  But  we  must 
not  borrow  when  we  could  never  pay  back, 
and  there  are  .other  ways," 


A  CADMEAN  VICTORY.  191 

"Yes,  you  can  leave  me  and  go  to  Paul 
Kemsing,"  said  Mrs.  Pederson  slowly.  "  I  don't 
expect  you  to  stay  with  me,  Hilary.  It  is  a 
wretched  life,  and  you  are  young.  You  will 
have  to  give  up  your  income,  but  Paul  will 
make  it  up  to  you.  It  is  little  enough,  but  I 
daresay  Mrs.  Bateson  will  keep  me  here  and  I 
shall  manage.  What  does  it  matter  how  dull 
and  lonely  a  wrecked  life  like  mine  may  be. 
You  had  far  better  leave  me  to  muddle  along 
by  myself." 

Hilary  touched  the  claw-like  hand  on  the 
edge  of  the  counterpane  gently. 

"  No,  no  1  I  will  not  leave  you,"  she  said 
soothingly.  "All  will  come  right  if  you  keep 
away  from  Chivers  Smith  and  his  horrid  busi- 
ness. We  will  go  away,  Aunt  Sophie,  and  be 
happy  together.  I  have  found  a  way  ot  making 
it  quite  possible." 

Mrs.  Pederson  lay  back  among  the  pillows 
and  stared  at  her  curiously. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked  querulously. 
"I  suppose  the  mystery  has  to  do  with  your 
absence  to-day.  Mrs.  Bateson  said  you  had 
gone  into  the  country." 

Hilary  nodded.  "I  wonder  whether  you  are 
well  enough  to  hear  my  story  now,  or  whether 


192  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

I  had  better  reserve  it  till  to-morrow,"  she  said 
meditatively.  "Frances  said  you  were  not  to 
be  worried  about  anything  until  you  had  had 
a  night's  rest." 

"  I  shall  not  sleep  for  hours,  and  it  will 
amuse  me  to  hear,"  Mrs.  Pederson  insisted. 
"  What  took  you  in  the  country  ? " 

Hilary  hesitated,  scarcely  knowing  where  to 
begin  her  story,  and  anxious  to  tell  it  in  the 
most  propitious  manner. 

"I  went  to  see  a  literary  man  who  had 
advertised  for  a  secretary,"  she  said  cheerfully. 
"Our  money  matters  need  instant  adjustment, 
you  know,  and  I  thought  it  would  be  easier  to 
earn  a  little  than  to  retrench.  I  was  engaged, 
and  I  have  promised  to  enter  on  my  duties 
next  week." 

"  Well,  of  all  the  unheard-of  projects  !  And 
to  take  such  a  step  without  saying  a  word  to 
me  I  You  are  a  bold  girl,  Hilary  Pederson. 
May  I  ask  how  you  propose  to  get  to  and 
from  vour  work  each  day  ?  It  seems  to  me 
all  your  salary  will  be  swallowed  up  in  rail- 
way fares.  And  what  am  I  to  do  in  your 
prolonged  absence,  pray  ? " 

"  Dear  Aunt  Sophie,  Meadham  is  miles  and 
miles  away.  I  could  not  possibly  go  daily.  I 


A  C ADM  RAN  VICTORY.  193 

shall  live  there,  and  I  hope  you  will  promise 
to  come  with  me.  It  is  the  sweetest  place,  and 
I  have  got  charming  rooms.  We  should  be 
tremendously  happy,  and  quite  out  of  the 
reach  of  that  odious  man,  Smith." 

"Never!  Nothing  shall  induce  me  to  bury 
myself  alive  in  any  country  village,"  cried  Mrs. 
Pederson.  "You  may  go  if  you  like,  Hilary, 
but  not  one  penny  of  your  ninety  pounds  can 
you  touch  unless  you  remain  with  me." 

Hilary  said  nothing.  She  always  found  it 
wisest  to  allow  the  torrent  of  her  aunt's  wrath 
to  roll  on  unchecked.  To-night,  physical 
weakness  soon  reduced  it  to  a  purling  stream  of 
complaint  and  protest.  It  occurred  to  Mrs. 
Pederson,  later,  that  her  own  indiscretion 
in  abstracting  the  sovereigns  from  Hilary's 
purse  had  placed  her  in  an  awkward  position 
as  regards  the  future.  She  was  shrewd  enough 
to  know  that  in  Hilary's  absence  Mrs.  Bateson 
would  not  be  willing  to  keep  her  unless  she 
could  pay  the  weekly  bill,  and  it  was  certain 
that  there  would  be  no  more  dividends  where- 
with to  pay  that  bill  for  many  weeks. 

"  Don't  ask  me  to  decide  to-night.  I'm 
worn  out  and  sick  of  everything,"  she  said  at 
last.  "You  can  go  away  and  leave  me  in 


194  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

peace.  Yes,  go  away  and  talk  to  your  Mrs. 
Bateson,  who  always  knows  more  of  your  plans 
than  your  stupid  old  aunt  does." 

She  turned  her  face  to  the  wall  and  shut 
her  eyes.  Hilary  stood  for  a  moment  irresolute. 
Though  she  was  firmly  convinced  of  her  own 
wisdom  in  this  matter,  she  felt  that  she  had 
gained  a  Cadmean  victory;  the  pain  was  equal 
on  each  side.  She  stooped  and  kissed  the  grey, 
wrinkled  face. 

"  Poor  Aunt  Sophie !  I  hate  to  do  anything 
you  do  not  like,"  she  said  remorsefully.  "Try 
to  sleep  now,  dear ;  things  always  look  brighter 
in  the  morning." 

Aunt  Sophie  did  not  deign  to  notice  this 
remark,  and  Hilary  slipped  quietly  away. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

QUITE  AN  OCCASION. 

MRS.  PEDERSON  had  this  redeeming  quality, 
she  always  resigned  herself  to  the  inevitable 
with  fairly  good  grace.  She  was  clever  enough 
to  see  that  Hilary  had  commonsense  and  right 
on  her  side,  and  though  she  grumbled  loudly 
at  circumstances,  she  recognised  the  wisdom  of 
submitting  to  them.  She  told  Hilary  next  day 
that  she  would  go  with  her  to  Meadham,  and 
set  herself  to  convince  the  boarders  that  failing 
health  and  the  third-rateness  of  "Bateson's 
Select  Establishment"  had  decided  her  to  try 
country  air  and  more  refined  quarters. 

"  My  health  is  not  what  it  was,"  she  in- 
formed Miss  Heckler  languidly.  "This  place 
was  possible  for  a  time  when  my  affairs  were 
in  disorder,  but  it  has  told  upon  me.  And  I 
must  think  of  Hilary,  too ;  a  girl  has  no 
chances  in  a  place  of  this  kind,  you  know." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,  dear  Mrs. 
Pederson ;  she  has  no  chance  at  all,"  replied 
Miss  Heckler,  with  a  toss  of  the  head.  "In 


196  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

London  the  labour  market  is  quite  overstocked, 
I  am  told.  Our  dear  little  Hilary  will  do  far 
better  in  the  provinces." 

Mrs.  Pederson  coloured  angrily.  "Spiteful 
thing  1 "  she  said  to  herself.  "  Hilary  has  not 
the  slightest  idea  of  keeping  her  own  counsel. 
What  need  was  there  to  tell  these  people  that 
she  is  going  to  take  a  situation.  I  shall  be 
glad  to  see  the  last  of  them  all." 

She  spent  most  of  her  last  week  in  Tozer 
Street  in  her  own  room,  appearing  only  at  meals, 
when  she  cloaked  herself  in  dignity  and  gave 
an  undivided  attention  to  the  dishes.  It  was 
fortunate  that  the  preparations  for  departure 
were  few,  for  they  fell  entirely  upon  Hilary's 
shoulders. 

"  It  is  your  choice,  not  mine,  this  change  of 
quarters,  so  it  is  only  fair  that  you  should  do 
the  packing,"  Mrs.  Pederson  said  sulkily. 
"Goodness  knows  there  is  little  enough  to 
pack." 

"It's  an  ill  wind  that  blows  no  one  any 
good,"  laughed  Hilary.  "If  I  had  a  house  to 
dismantle  I  should  have  no  time  to  do  a  dozen 
things  I  have  promised  to  do  for  the  people 
in  the  house."  She  held  up  a  bodice  she  was 
remodelling  for  Mrs.  Bateson.  "It  will  be  one 


QUITE  AN  OCCASION.  197 

of  my  comforting  reflections  when  I  get  to 
Meadham  that  dear  little  Mrs.  Bateson  is 
looking  nicer  than  she  has  done  ever  since  I 
knew  her.  This  confection  looks  cosy  and 
elderly  now,  but  its  colour  and  scantiness  have 
assaulted  my  eyes  for  months." 

"  How  can  you  tolerate  these  people  or 
bother  about  them ! "  Mrs.  Pederson  said. 
"  Mrs.  Bateson  gets  on  my  nerves  with  her 
fussy,  vulgar  little  ways." 

Hilary  lifted  her  head  impatiently,  then 
she  went  on  with  her  work  without  uttering 
the  indignant  protest  which  rose  to  her  lips. 

"She  is  not  vulgar,  dear,  only  common- 
place," she  said  quietly.  "  I  always  feel  that 
her  real  kindness  to  us  covers  a  multitude  of 
social  lapses,  and  I  shall  be  very  sorry  to  leave 
her." 

"She  has  been  paid  for  all  she  has  done," 
Mrs.  Pederson  insisted.  "You  can't  deny  that 
she  is  an  atrocious  manager  and  the  service  is 
abominable.  I  hope  to  goodness  our  next  land- 
lady will  know  how  to  behave  herself  and  to 
keep  her  house." 

Hilary  laughed  mischievously.  In  imagination 
she  saw  Mrs.  Vision's  grave  Madonna  face,  her 
stately  figure,  and  her  graceful  draperies.  She 


1 98  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

would  certainly  know  how  to  "behave  herself," 
but  Hilary  was  not  quite  sure  that  she  would 
please  Aunt  Sophie  any  better  than  vulgar, 
good-tempered  little  Mrs.  Bateson  had  done. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  carried  the  finished 
bodice  down  to  Mrs.  Bateson's  room. 

Mrs.  Bateson  was  in  the  throes  of  menu 
writing,  and  gladly  relinquished  the  task  to  the 
girl  whilst  she  tried  the  effect  of  the  new 
"confection"  and  pronounced  it  "beautiful,  if  a 
shade  too  high  in  the  neck  for  the  ways  of  the 
house." 

"  I  shall  wear  it  to-night,  for  I've  an  idea 
that  the  boarders  are  going  to  make  this  evening, 
your  very  last  evening,  quite  an  occasion,"  she 
said  mysteriously.  "No  one  is  dining  out,  and 
Mr.  Bradbrook  asked  me  to  put  a  specially  good 
dinner  on  the  table.  It  is  to  be  quite  an  occa- 
sion, I'm  sure." 

Hilary  laughed  merrily.  "  How  alarming ! 
But  Aunt  Sophie  will  be  pleased,  though  it  may 
make  her  more  and  more  disinclined  for  the 
quietness  of  rural  little  Meadham." 

As  Mrs.  Bateson  had  hinted,  it  was  the 
intention  of  the  rest  of  the  boarders  to  make 
this  last  evening  the  Pedersons  spent  under  the 
roof  of  the  boarding-house  something  of  a 


QUITE  AN  OCCASION.  199 

festival.  There  was  not  one  who  did  not  regret 
Hilary's  departure,  and  she  forgave  all  the 
queer  little  ways  which  had  often  jarred 
for  the  sake  of  the  sincere  and  hearty  kindness 
showered  upon  her  now.  Miss  Heckler  had 
learned  a  new  song,  and  Mr.  Bradbrook  an 
absolutely  new  joke,  whilst  Miss  Bird  laid  aside 
her  cynicism,  and  petted  and  made  much  of  her 
when  they  went  up  to  the  drawing-room. 

"You  will  come  and  see  us  whenever  you 
are  in  town,  Miss  Pederson,"  she  said,  under 
cover  of  the  loud  music  which  never  impeded 
conversation  or  seemed  to  ask  for  an  audience. 
"You  will  be  sure  to  find  me  here.  'Men 
may  come  and  men  may  go,  but  I  stay  on  for 
ever.'  It's  a  ridiculous  place  if  you  look  at  it 
from  some  points,  but  it's  convenient,  and  you 
are  never  bothered  about  rules  and  conven- 
tionalities. You  might  give  me  your  address, 
and  if  I  am  ever  in  your  part  of  the  country, 
I  will  look  you  up.  I  expect  you  will  be 
dull  enough  after  having  lived  in  town.  You 
are  going  to  do  secretary's  work,  are  you  not  ? 
If  you  ever  take  to  scribbling — and  nearly 
everybody  does  some  time  or  other  nowadays — 
you  just  write  to  me.  I'll  do  my  best  to  get 
you  a  column  in  one  of  the  weeklies,  for  a 


2OO  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

start ;  '  Hints  to  Mothers '  or  '  How  to  Bring 
up  your  Sons/  or  something  of  that  sort.  I 
know  lots  of  girls  who  have  begun  like  that  and 
are  doing  well  in  a  small  way." 

Hilary  laughed,  and  thanked  her.  She  had 
not  the  least  intention  of  enlisting  as  an  adviser 
in  matters  of  which  she  knew  herself  con- 
spicuously ignorant,  and  she  had  absolutely  no 
literary  ambitions. 

"Well,  if  you  change  your  mind,  write  to 
me,"  replied  Miss  Bird,  as  Mr.  Bradbrook  came 
up  to  claim  Hilary's  attention  for  a  new  puzzle 
he  had  invented. 

"  It's  too  simple  to  engage  you  a  couple  of 
minutes,"  he  said  jocosely.  "I'm  too  distraught 
at  your  desertion  of  us  to  originate  anything 
clever.  I  can't  fancy  'Bateson's  Select'  without 
you  now,  really  I  can't.  You'll  find  me  at  Mead- 
ham  one  morning  begging  you,  in  the  name  of  the 
assembled  boarders,  to  come  back  to  us.  The 
milkmaid — there  are  always  milkmaids  in  the 
country,  I  believe — will  find  me  hanging  ovei 
the  gate  at  the  screech  of  dawn." 

"You  talk  a  lot  of  nonsense,  Mr.  Brad- 
brook,"  Hilary  said,  severely.  "Though,  if  ever 
you  come  to  Meadham,  I  am  sure  we  shall 
be  pleased  to  see  you,"  she  added,  smiling 


QutTE  AN  OCCASION.  201 

"You  need  not  make  yourself  conspicuous  by 
hanging,  for  an  indefinite  time,  over  the  gate." 
Hilary  did  not  resent  Mr.  Bradbrook's  familiarities 
and  his  perpetual  jokes,  as  she  had  once  done. 
It  was  as  foolish  to  do  so  as  to  quarrel  with 
the  shape  of  his  nose  or  the  commonplaceness 
of  his  florid,  good-tempered  face.  She  had 
learned  the  folly  of  insisting  that  everyone  she 
met  should  be  a  hero  in  embryo,  and  had  come  to 
accept  the  fact  that  most  were  kindly,  ordinary 
creatures,  anxious  to  do  their  work  in  the 
world,  with  no  desires  which  outstripped  their 
opportunities,  and  no  cravings  that  went  to  ship- 
wreck on  the  rocks  of  circumstance.  She  was 
even  glad  it  was  so ;  she  had  grown  a  little 
afraid  of  the  lives  which  threatened  to  run  on 
unconventional  lines. 

"  I  say,  are  you  genuine  in  that  ?  You 
wouldn't  mind  if  I  biked  down  some  Bank 
Holiday  ? "  the  young  man  said,  with  evident 
pleasure,  tinged  with  surprise.  "  Mrs.  P.  won't 
much  like  it,  but  if  you  give  me  a  permit  I'll 
face  her  displeasure.  Shall  I  make  it  the  first 
holiday  that  comes  along  ?  " 

Hilary  nodded.  "If  Aunt  Sophie's  predic- 
tions come  true,  long  before  then  the  stagnation 
of  Meadham  will  have  reduced  her  to  a  con- 


2O2  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

dition  of  dulness  when  she  will  welcome  her 
worst  enemy  with  effusion." 

Bradbrook  made  his  appearance  next  morning 
as  the  luggage  was  being  piled  on  a  cab  and 
Mrs.  Pederson  was  showering  good-byes  right 
and  left.  They  fell  like  the  dew  of  heaven, 
alike  on  those  she  liked  and  disliked;  she  was 
too  glad  to  turn  her  back  on  Tozer  Street  to 
care  to  discriminate.  Her  effusiveness  received 
no  check  when  Bradbrook  presented  himself  at 
the  door  of  the  cab  and  held  out  a  bouquet  of 
phenomenal  proportions. 

"A  small  token  of  esteem  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing,"  he  said  airily,  proffering  the  token. 
"  You  can  hold  it  out  of  the  window  if  it  gets 
too  whiffy,  but  don't  refuse  it,  or  you'll  hurt  the 
sensitive  feelings  of  S.  J.  B." 

Mrs.  Pederson  accepted  the  offering  with 
becks  and  wreathed  smiles.  "  How  delightful  of 
you  to  think  of  such  a  thing,  Mr.  Bradbrook," 
she  said  coquettishly.  "Such  a  royal  way  of 
setting  anyone  off!" 

"Sweets  to  the  sweet,"  replied  the  young 
man,  beaming  expansively.  "Tell  me  I  may 
come  to  see  you  in  your  new  place  and  I'll 
bring  you  a  posy  that  will  put  that  one  in  the 
shade." 


QUITE  AN  OCCASION.  203 

"Of  course  you  may  come.  "We  shall  be 
delighted  to  see  you,"  Mrs.  Pederson  declared; 
and  then  there  was  more  waving  of  hand- 
kerchiefs and  last  words  to  those  gathered  on 
the  steps. 

Hilary  leaned  back  in  her  corner  of  the  cab 
with  eyes  which  were  too  dim  to  see  much 
that  was  going  on.  She  had  said  her  good- 
byes earlier  and  her  heart  was  too  sore  to  go 
over  them  again.  It  was  characteristic  of  her 
to  give  herself  so  unstintedly  to  those  with 
whom  her  lot  was  cast,  that  parting,  after  ever 
so  short  a  time,  was  like  leaving  something  ot 
herself  behind.  She  watched  Mrs.  Pederson,  and 
marvelled  at  the  effusiveness  she  expended  on 
those  she  openly  declared  herself  glad  to  turn 
her  back  upon.  There  was  something  in  Hilary 
which,  then  and  always,  revolted  against  the 
least  shadow  of  deceit,  the  making  and  acting 
even  of  a  social  lie. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

FAIRMEAD. 

HILARY  often  said,  and  with  justice,  that  she 
had  been  specially  favoured  by  fortune  at  this 
crisis  of  her  life.  Her  coming  to  Meadham 
always  glowed  as  a  bright  spot  in  a  life  in 
which  the  sunshine  far  exceeded  the  cloud.  It 
was  the  point  from  which  all  that  was  happiest 
in  after  days  radiated.  She  entered  upon  her 
duties  with  that  enthusiasm  which  refuses  to 
see  disagreeables,  and  took  an  interest  in  her 
work  which  delighted  her  employer. 

Max  Hilder  possessed  the  happy  art  of 
infecting  others  with  his  own  enthusiasms,  and 
Hilary  was  an  apt  pupil.  Sometimes  she  told 
herself  that  she  did  so  little  and  learned  so 
much  that  it  seemed  ridiculous  to  take  wages 
and  to  pretend  that  she  was  earning  her  living. 
She  had  never  been  so  happy  in  her  life  as  she 
was  when  sitting  at  the  table  in  the  pleasant 
sunshiny  library  at  Fairmead,  writing  from 
Mr.  Hilder's  dictation,  or  reading  to  him,  or 
even,  as  she  gained  courage  and  grew  to  know 


FAIRMEAD.  205 

him  better,  discussing  with  him  the  details  of 
his  work. 

There  were  hours,  certainly,  which  did 
not  pass  smoothly.  At  times  Hilder  chafed 
under  his  disability,  and  found  Hilary's  eyes 
could  not  do  all  that  his  own  might  have  done. 
He  grew  inwardly  depressed,  and  despaired 
over  a  progress  which  seemed  lamentably  slow; 
then  the  young  secretary  felt  the  sting  of 
sarcasm  and  the  lash  of  an  impatient  spirit.  As 
the  weeks  slipped  away  these  dark  hours 
became  rarer;  the  girl  did  her  work  better, 
and  the  man  fell  under  the  magic  influence  of 
her  generous  warm-heartedness  and  her  obvious 
desire  to  please. 

When  her  morning's  work  was  done  Hilary 
always  lunched  in  the  pleasant  morning-room  with 
Mrs.  Hilder.  Both  enjoyed  these  little  tdte-&-t$te 
meals.  They  afforded  Mrs.  Hilder  what  seldom 
had  come  into  her  life  hitherto,  an  interested 
and  untiring  listener.  So  few  people  cared 
for  long  conversations  on  the  only  topic  it 
really  pleased  her  to  talk  upon — her  son,  his 
charming  childhood,  the  brilliance  of  his  school 
and  college  career,  his  manifold  virtues  and  his 
wonderful  successes. 

The  greater  part  of  the  old  lady's  life  had 


2o6  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

been  spent  in  a  loneliness  which  no  one  seemed 
to  have  fathomed.  Widowed  after  two  years  of 
married  life,  she  had  lived  ever  since  at  Fair- 
mead,  absorbed  at  first  in  the  growth  of  her 
infant  son,  living  later  for  the  radiant  intervals 
of  the  schoolboy's  holidays,  then  in  the  hope 
that,  when  his  terms  at  Oxford  were  over,  he 
would  be  with  her  altogether.  That  time  never 
came.  Love  of  travel  and  a  passion  for 
Teutonic  folklore  gripped  the  young  man. 
The  months  he  spent  at  Fairmead  became 
fewer,  whilst  he  passed  his  time  wandering 
among  the  less-known  German  villages  and 
mountain  hamlets,  gathering  material  for  the 
book  which  was  beginning  to  engross  his 
thoughts.  Some  people  blamed  him  roundly 
for  his  neglect  of  his  home  and  his  mother, 
and  doubted  his  devotion  to  her.  Mrs.  Hilder 
never  did;  she  loved  him  and  understood  that, 
to  the  young,  it  seems  natural  that  the  old 
should  bide  at  home.  They  had  had  their  day 
of  storm  and  stress,  and  could  desire  nothing 
more  than  to  live  monotonous  lives  in  the 
backwaters  of  existence.  Only  time  teaches 
the  young  that  hearts  ache  and  love  demands 
fulfilment,  even  though  the  hair  be  white  and  the 
wrinkles  of  age  are  thick  about  the  faded  eyes. 


FAIRMEAD.  207 

Max  thought  of  it  all  later,  when  she  became 
the  active  and  he  the  passive  factor  in  their 
life  together. 

From  the  first  Mrs.  Hilder  had  delighted 
in  Hilary's  introduction  into  the  quiet  life  at 
Fairmead.  There  was  nothing  small  or  mean 
about  this  simple,  unconventional  old  gentle- 
woman. She  saw  that  the  girl  was  bringing 
a  new  element  into  her  son's  life,  giving  it  a 
sparkle  and  gaiety  she  was  too  old  to  give  it 
herself,  and  she  was  frankly  glad.  Being  a 
woman,  she  was  bound  to  look  forward  at 
times  and  wonder  if  this  daily  intercourse  of 
man  and  maid  would  make  for  their  happiness 
or  sorrow.  Would  the  autumn  see  Max  a 
whole  man  again  and  Hilary  slipping  out  of 
the  life  she  did  so  much  to  brighten  ?  Im- 
possible to  forecast  Mrs.  Hilder  shook  her 
head  as  she  knitted  in  the  twilight  and  decided 
that  such  things  gained  nothing  by  the  inter- 
meddling of  a  third  party.  She  was  content  to 
wait  and  hope.  Hilary  was  a  daughter  any  mother 
might  be  proud  to  claim,  but  if  Max  did  not 
find  her  dear  and  desirable,  well,  the  gentle  old 
lady  hoped  that  Providence  would  take  care 
of  the  young  girl's  heart  and  let  the  autumn 
find  her  fancy-free. 


208  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

Hilary  would  have  been  the  first  to  own 
that  her  happiest  hours  were  spent  at  Fairmead. 
At  the  Cottage  she  had  plenty  of  that  vexation 
of  spirit  which  is  said  to  be  excellent  discipline 
for  heart  and  temper. 

Mrs.  Pederson  never  for  a  moment  concealed 
her  dislike  for  Meadham,  nor  her  sense  of 
the  injustice  of  fortune  which,  by  the  hand 
of  Hilary,  had  transplanted  her  thither.  The 
change,  indeed,  fell  more  heavily  upon  her 
than  anyone  stopped  to  consider.  She  missed 
everything  which  used  to  give  savour  to  her 
days,  and  the  long  weeks  stretched  before  her 
in  an  unbroken  vista  of  dulness.  Even  the 
minor  annoyances,  which  at  least  had  given  her 
something  to  talk  about,  were  taken  from  her. 

In  retrospect,  life  at  "Bateson's  Select 
Establishment"  was  infinitely  preferable,  and 
she  entertained  wild  projects  of  returning, 
whether  Hilary  consented  or  not.  There  was 
never  a  moment  when  she  would  not  willingly 
have  exchanged  the  beauty  and  freshness  of 
Meadham  for  the  smuttiness  of  London  squares. 

Hilary's  heart  smote  her  sometimes  when  she 
caught  sight  of  the  unhappy  face  and  the  limp, 
depressed  figure  at  the  window,  and  would 
coax  her  aunt  to  share  some  of  her  own 


FAIRMEAD.  209 

amusements.  But  Mrs.  Pederson  declared 
herself  sick  of  aimless  bicycle  rides  and  purpose- 
less walks  along  dreary  lanes.  She  sighed  for 
the  joys  of  Oxford  Street,  and  the  excitement 
of  capturing  bargains  in  the  autumn  sales. 

Hilary  gave  up  the  attempt  to  make 
Meadham  a  joyous  place  to  her,  and  was 
thankful  that  she  did  not  insist  on  going  back 
to  a  more  congenial  sphere,  as  it  was  clearly  in 
her  power  to  do.  Hilary  herself  had  not  a 
dull  or  idle  moment.  When  she  was  not  at 
Fairmead,  she  was  out  of  doors,  rowing  on  the 
little  river,  flying  along  the  leafy  lanes  on  her 
bicycle,  or  rambling  in  the  woods  with  an  escort 
of  village  children.  She  had  made  a  score  of 
friends  among  the  cottagers,  and  tried  to  interest 
Mrs.  Pederson  in  their  humble  neighbours. 
That  lady  absolutely  refused  to  see  anything 
worthy  ot  attention  in  the  old  women,  with 
their  dreary  tales  of  their  ailments,  or  in  the 
aged  men  whose  reminiscences  dated  back  to 
days  before  she  was  born.  She  did  not  care  a 
rap,  she  said,  for  their  sons  and  daughters  who 
had  married  and  gone  away,  and  wondered 
what  Hilary  found  to  amuse  her  in  their 
tedious  histories.  Her  eyes  had  never  yet 
grown  dim  over  the  annals  of  the  poor,  never 


2io  MRS.  PEDER SON'S  NIECB. 

had  her  heart  swelled  at  the  pitiful  cry  of  the 
obscure  and  suffering.  Little  as  she  knew  it, 
hers  was  a  bitter  loss,  for  the  heart  that  cannot 
ache  for  the  woes  of  others  misses,  too,  the 
finest  joys  this  world  can  give. 

Mrs.  Pederson  deserved  more  pity  than 
anyone  gave  her  in  these  days.  Age  can 
seldom,  like  the  olive,  throw  out  young  shoots 
from  the  old  bole,  and  hers  had  never  been 
a  fertile  or  resourceful  mind.  To  rob  her  of 
accustomed  duties  and  pleasures  was  to  leave 
her  life  empty  and  purposeless.  She  was 
extremely  and  increasingly  unhappy,  and,  in 
consequence,  extremely  and  increasingly  irrit- 
able. 

Hilary  was  by  nature  so  self-reliant  and 
contented  that  she  seldom  regretted  any  step 
she  took.  If  she  had  acted  wisely,  it  was  well ; 
if  she  had  made  a  mistake,  it  was  of  no  use  to 
vex  oneself  about  it  afterwards.  It  was  a 
comfortable  point  of  view,  and  saved  much 
vexation  of  spirit  Yet,  later,  she  wondered 
if  she  had  not  been  heedless  and  too  much 
taken  up  with  her  own  doings  at  this  time. 
She  had  certainly  been  apt  to  overlook  the 
tediousness  of  Aunt  Sophie's  existence.  It  is  so 
easy,  when  we  feel  that  we  have  done  the  right 


FAIRMEAD.  211 

thing,  to  believe  that  all  its  consequences  must 
be  of  the  pleasantest  also. 

Once  Mr.  Bradbrook  cycled  down  to 
Meadham  and  was  received  with  an  effusiveness 
which  surprised  him.  He  did  not  know  that 
Mrs.  Pederson's  pleasure  in  seeing  him  was 
mainly  the  backwash  of  her  desire  to  see  any 
face  that  reminded  her  of  London  and  the  old 
life. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
"LET  us  FORGET  TO  BE  WISE." 

To  Hilary  this  was  the  shortest  summer  of  her 
life.  The  days  slipped  away,  and  she  would 
gladly  have  clogged  the  whetils  of  time  had  she 
been  able.  It  required  more  grace  than  she 
possessed  to  welcome  the  golden  and  russet 
beauty  of  the  autumn. 

She  had  been  well  aware,  when  she  came 
to  Meadham,  that  her  engagement  was  but  a 
temporary  one,  but  she  had  never  anticipated  that 
it  would  be  such  a  grief  to  look  forward  to  its 
termination.  She  viewed  her  removal  to  some 
other  sphere  of  labour  with  a  sinking  of  the  heart 
Mrs.  Pederson  would  never  have  understood. 

Hilary  shared  to  the  full  Mrs.  Hilder's 
anxiety  for  the  success  of  the  operation  for 
which  Mr.  Hilder  was  going  to  Germany,  but 
she  did  not  not  let  herself  dwell  on  what  that 
success  would  mean  to  her. 

She  had  promised  to  remain  at  Meadham 
until  they  returned  to  Fairmead,  but,  after  that, 
life  looked  anything  but  roseate. 


"LET  US  FORGET  TO  BE    W/SS."  21 3 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  preceding  that 
fixed  for  the  departure  of  mother  and  son 
for  Wiesbaden,  Hilary  was  standing  in  the 
drawing-room  at  Fairmead,  dressed  for  dinner. 
Mrs.  Vision  had  returned  unexpectedly  from  her 
visit,  and  Mrs.  Hilder  had  invited  the  little 
party  from  the  Cottage  to  dine.  It  was  to  be 
what  Mrs.  Bateson  termed  "an  occasion,"  and 
the  toast  was  to  be  "  Success  to  the  under- 
taking," drunk  in  champagne  Max  had  himself 
brought  from  abroad. 

Mrs.  Vision  and  Aunt  Sophie  had  not  yet 
arrived,  and  the  girl  moved  about  the  room 
restlessly,  taking  up  a  book  or  burying  her 
face  in  a  bowl  of  fragrant  roses,  trying  by  one 
means  or  another  to  forget  that  the  occasion 
wae  one  in  which  regret  was  mixed  with  her 

joy. 

"They  ought  to  be  here  immediately,"  she 
said  absently.  "It  isn't  like  Aunt  Sophie  to  be 
late  at  an  important  function,  and  she  regards 
this  as  quite  an  event." 

She  went  to  the  window  and  stepped  out 
on  the  terrace.  As  she  crossed  the  sill  she 
started  and  the  colour  rushed  to  her  cheeks. 
Mr.  Hilder  was  leaning  against  a  pillar,  and 
looked  up  with  a  smile.  Hilary  might  well  be 


214  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

startled.  For  the  first  time  since  she  came  to 
Meadham,  she  saw  him  without  the  disfiguring 
bandage  and  the  green  shade.  His  eyes,  a  clear, 
dark  brown,  in  which  she  could  detect  no  sign 
;of  disease,  looked  straight  into  hers  with  a 
steady,  keen,  and  scrutinising  gaze. 

"Mr.  Hilder,  ought  you  to  be  here,  and 
without  your  shade  ? "  she  exclaimed  quickly. 
"  Is  it  wise  ?  Is  it  right  ?  Suppose  you  are 
endangering  the  success  of  the  operation." 

He  laughed  softly.  "  Then  you  have  learned 
to  '  look  before  and  after,' "  he  said.  "  This  is 
my  last  evening.  Who  knows  what  may  happen 
before  I  stand  here  again  ?  Let  us  forget  to  be 
wise  for  once." 

Hilary  shook  her  head.  "  I  could  have  told 
you  that  it  is  a  golden  evening,  and  that  Mead- 
ham  looks  lovely  as  ever.  There  is  nothing  so 
unusual  at  home  and  abroad  that  you  need  risk 
anything  to  see  it,"  she  said  practically.  "  Please 
let  me  arrange  your  shade." 

He  shook  his  head,  and  moved  a  step  nearer 
to  the  girl. 

"  Do  you  know,  little  comrade,  what  I  was 
thinking  of  as  I  stood  here  ?  Not  of  the 
long,  strait  road  I  shall  have  to  tread  if 
Pagenstecher  fails — I  can  make  up  my  mind  to 


"  LET  US  FORGET  TO  BE    WlSE."  21$ 

that — I  was  thinking  that  there  were  a  few 
things  I  would,  if  I  could,  take  with  me  into  that 
darkness.  You  have  helped  me  so  much,  little 
comrade,  since  you  came  into  my  life,  that  it 
seemed  ridiculous  I  should  go  down  into  the 
valley  of  shadows  and  that  you  should  be  only 
a  voice  to  me.  I  told  myself  that,  come  what 
might,  I  would  see  you  once."  He  spoke 
rapidly,  as  if  he  were  almost  afraid  of  himself, 
taking  in  all  the  time  the  graceful  young  figure, 
the  clustering  brown  hair,  and  the  starry  eyes, 
with  a  hungry,  wistful  look,  which  went  to  the 
girl's  heart. 

"Whatever    comes  now,   I  shall   know  you 

now  as  you  are,  child ;  and  who  can  tell  what 

may  betide  ?  " 

Hilary's  heart  beat  fast  and  her  lips  trembled. 
"  It  must  be  success — it  shall  be  I "  she  cried 

under    her    breath.     She   was   one   of  those   to 

whom    hope    is    always    so   much    easier    than 

despair.      "Please     don't    be    despondent,    Mr. 

Hilder ;  Pagenstecher  can't  fail ;  it  would  be  too 

cruel.    Don't,  don't  give  up  hope." 

"  I  will  not,"   he    said    quietly.     "  At  least, 

one   may  as  well   hope    to    the   end.     I    shall 

find  you   here  when  I   come   back,    you    have 

promised  me  ?  " 


216  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

Hilary  nodded.  Then  a  sound  of  voices 
was  heard  in  the  room  behind  them,  and  Mrs. 
Hilder's  face  was  framed  in  the  window. 

The   young  man  moved  away  quickly,    and 
when    he    appeared   in    the    drawing-room    the  fc 
familiar  bandage  had  been  readjusted. 

Though  the  little  dinner  party  passed  off 
without  any  mishap,  and  the  meal  was  perfect, 
a  shadow  was  upon  the  five  diners  which  no 
efforts  on  their  part  could  lift.  Mrs.  Pederson, 
who  had  never  dined  before  at  Fairmead,  and 
had  been  filled  with  delight  at  the  invitation, 
voted  the  evening  scarcely  less  dull  than  those 
she  passed  at  the  Cottage,  whilst  Mrs.  Vision 
exerted  herself  in  vain  to  entertain  the  rest  with 
reminiscences  of  her  stay  abroad. 

All  were  glad  when  the  hands  of  the  clock 
pointed  to  ten,  and  they  could  part  without  any 
show  of  impolite  haste. 

For  a  moment,  before  starting  for  the  cottage, 
Hilary  found  herself  alone  in  the  hall  with  Max 
Hilder.  He  could  not  see  her,  but  his  ears, 
quickened  because  they  had  had  to  serve  so 
often  for  eye,  told  him  that  she  was  near,  and  he 
held  out  his  hand. 

"This  is  good-bye  in  a  sense  that  it  seldom 
is,"  he  said,  smiling  faintly.  "You  will  never 


" LET  US  FORGET  TO  BE    WlSE."  2 1/ 

meet  the  same  Max  Hilder,  little  comrade.  I 
shall  come  back  in  a  few  weeks'  time,  but 
another  man.  I  shall  be  a  whole  man,  able  to 
take  my  place  with  my  fellows  and  to  enjoy  the 
birthright  of  a  man,  or  I  shall  come  home  a 
derelict,  cut  off  from  all  that  constitutes  the  chief 
joy  of  life." 

Hilary  looked  at  him  with  trouble  and  a 
little  indignation  in  her  face.  "You  used  not 
to  talk  like  this,  Mr.  Hilder,"  she  said  wist- 
fully. 

"I  used  not  to  feel  like  this,"  he  replied 
bitterly.  "Only  living  teaches  one  what  one 
wants  and  what  one  cannot  have.  If  I  come 
back  uncured,  I  shall  have  said  good-bye  to 
what  man  prizes  most;  I  shall  be  cut  off 
from  what  seems  to  me  now  the  most  desirable 
thing  in  the  world." 

The  girl  frowned.  She  did  not  like  this 
bitter,  despondent  man,  as  she  had  done  the 
bright,  brave,  debonair  Max,  who  had  treated 
his  affliction  as  though  it  were  not.  He 
seemed  lowered,  but  he  touched  her  heart  none 
the  less  deeply. 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said 
wistfully.  "Why  dwell  on  that  side  of  the 
question  ?  Think  of  other  things ;  if  you  are 


218  MRS.  PEDER SON'S  NIECB. 

cut  off  from  what  seems  dear  and  desirable,  are 
you  not  cut  off  too  from  troubles  other  men 
suffer,  troubles  old  as  mankind :  the  unsparing 
war  of  grinding  poverty,  the  struggle  for  dearly 
bought  food,  precarious  honour,  perils  and  pitfalls, 
and  the  poor  rewards  of  many  ?  In  trouble  it 
helps,  I  think,  to  look  at  the  troubles  of  others, 
at  horrors  which  can  never  come  near  us.  I  have 
seen  some  sides  of  poverty  which  have  made 
me  hot  and  ashamed.  I  have  often  thought  it 
was  better  to  lose  a  limb  or  a  sense  than, 
having  all  these,  to  sink  into  such  sordid 
poverty,  meanness  and  disgrace  as  I  have 
seen." 

"Little  comrade,  there  are  some  things  a 
man  cannot  teach  himself  to  relinquish  with- 
out long  and  bitter  struggle,"  he  said  sadly. 
"God  grant  that  I  come  back  a  whole 
man." 

"Come  back  as  you  may,  you  will  be  the 
same  to  me,"  Hilary  said  softly.  "And  in  the 
fight  you  will  conquer;  with  sword  broken, 
but  unbroken  courage." 

He  touched  her  hand  lightly  with  his  lips, 
and  left  her  to  join  her  aunt,  whose  voice  was 
heard  on  the  staircase. 

Next  morning  mother  and  son  left  Meadham, 


*  LET  US  FORGET  TO  BE    WlSB?  21 9 

and  a  quietness  settled  on  those  left  behind, 
which  Hilary  found  harder  to  bear  than 
anything  she  had  yet  been  called  to  pass 
through. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A  DISASTER. 

FRANCES,  left  behind  in  London,  was  working 
hard  for  her  final.  She  was  working  far  too 
hard,  said  her  fellow-students,  noting  the  colour- 
less skin,  the  wrinkles  about  her  mouth,  and 
the <  unnatural  brilliance  of  her  dark  eyes.  They 
read  the  meaning  of  these  by  the  light  of  past 
experience,  and  told  each  other  that  Frances 
Kemsing  was  making  a  mistake,  and  that  it 
was  a  pity  Ursula  Grantham  was  away.  It  was 
clear  that  Frances  wanted  someone  to  look  after 
her  whose  opinion  she  valued. 

Frances  was  secretly  glad  that  Ursula  was 
not  at  Skone  Street  just  now.  It  would  have 
been  tiresome  to  be  compelled  to  leave  her 
work  on  this  or  that  pretext,  to  be  obliged 
to  take  the  meals  her  friend  insisted  on  pre- 
paring for  her,  or  to  be  worried  into  retiring 
for  the  night  just  when  the  brain  was  growing 
hot  and  clear,  and  the  work  seemed  most  easy 
to  grapple  with.  The  night  Ursula  went  home 
to  nurse  her  dying  father,  Frances  worked  until 


A  DISASTER.  221 

the  dawn  crept  in  at  the  east  window,  and  for 
many  a  night  after,  the  gas  was  not  turned  out 
till  far  into  the  small  hours. 

She  told  herself  exultingly  that  she  was  not 
suffering  in  the  least  through  these  long  hours. 
Sleep  was  more  and  more  easily  banished,  and 
she  felt  no  weariness  in  the  day,  though  she  had 
closed  her  eyes  only  for  a  few  hours. 

All  the  knowledge  she  had,  jktfquired  con- 
cerning brain  and  body  had  not  taught  the 
eager  student  that  everything  in  this  life  has 
its  price,  and  outraged  nature  will  sooner  or 
later  demand  heavy  compensation. 

The  evening  before  the  examination  one  of 
the  students  made  up  a  little  party  in  her 
rooms,  to  celebrate  the  close  of  their  long  strain 
and  to  wish  success  to  those  who  were  going 
up  on  the  morrow.  She~  Basked  Frances  to  join 
them,  but  the  girl  refused  with  something  like 
horror.  She  thought  it  sheer  madness  to  laugh 
and  frolic  away  this  last  evening,  and  told  her 
companions  so;  they  might  risk  their  chances 
of  success  if  they  liked,  but  she  could  not 
afford  to  do  so. 

She  went  home  to  her  lonely  lodgings  and 
worked  till  daybreak,  reviewing  and  reassuring 
herself  on  weak  points,  feeling  herself  keener  to 


222  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

grasp  difficult  questions,  cooler  to  differentiate, 
than  she  had  ever  been,  and  gloriously  sure  of 
success. 

Day  was  breaking  as  she  pushed  together 
her  pile  of  books,  and  leaned  back  in  her  chair 
to  rest  her  cramped  body.  The  clouds  were 
breaking  up  before  the  coming  of  the  sun,  and 
a  golden  glow  illumined  the  horizon.  In  the 
smokeless  air  of  the  early  morning,  over  the 
sea  of  roofs,  there  was  a  strange,  weird  beauty 
in  the  wide  vista.  Frances  had  never  paid 
much  attention  to  natural  beauties ;  she  had 
never  in  her  life  given  more  than  a  passing 
glance  to  sunrise  or  sunset,  but  as  her  tired  eyes 
looked  out  on  this  wonder  of  grey  and  gold, 
a  strange  fascination  and  terror  seized  upon  her. 
She  saw  clearly,  and  knew  what  it  was  she 
saw,  and  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  sight  to 
inspire  terror,  but  none  the  less  it  filled  her  with 
vague,  awful  horror,  for  which  she  could  give  no 
cause  or  reason. 

Only  she  knew  that  the  sight  unnerved  her, 
and  she  clung  to  the  edge  of  the  table  for 
support.  She  could  not  bear  the  dazzling  sight, 
nor  had  she  strength  to  look  away. 

"  Ursula  I  Hilary  1  My  God  1  why  am  I 
alone  ?  "  she  cried.  "  I  cannot  bear  to  be  alone ! " 


A  DISASTER.  223 

At  last  she  forced  herself  to  move  away, 
mechanically  put  on  her  hat,  fled  downstairs 
and  into  the  street.  Tottenham  Court  Road, 
into  which  she  wandered,  had  scarcely  yet 
awakened  to  the  day's  work.  Silence  reigned 
in  the  sleeping  houses,  and,  here  and  there,  a 
high  window,  caught  by  the  sun,  gleamed  like 
gold.  The  air,  fresh  and  cool,  fanned  the  girl's 
cheek  as  she  rambled  on,  anxious  only  to  forget 
that  hour  of  dawn  which  had  brought  such 
panic  with  it.  She  dared  not  return  to  her 
lodging,  though  what  it  was  she  feared  she 
could  not  tell.  When  the  city  rose,  with 
cheerful  bustle,  she  found  a  restaurant  and 
ordered  breakfast.  It  was  served  with  wonder- 
ing looks  by  the  waitress;  but  Frances 
could  not  eat,  though  she  felt  faint  and  oddly 
weak. 

She  knew  that  it  was  the  day  of  the  exam- 
ination, and  that  she  must  be  at  the  hall  before 
two  o'clock,  but  all  thought  of  the  work,  all 
anxiety  concerning  her  success,  had  slipped 
away  from  her.  She  was  taxing  all  her  powers  to 
put  from  her  the  terror  which  had  assailed  her 
at  sight  of  the  sunrise,  and  she  longed  with  all 
her  heart  for  Hilary.  She  felt  that  she  would 
no  longer  be  afraid  if  Hilary's  young  strong 


224  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

arms  were  round  her,  and  Hilary's  frank,  smiling 
eyes  looking  into  hers. 

She  rested  her  chin  on  her  hand  and  leaned 
forward  on  the  little  marble-topped  table.  It 
was  such  a  white,  pinched  face,  and  such  dark, 
troubled  eyes  that  stared  from  the  corner,  that 
the  waitresses  gathered  together  and  discussed 
her  in  whispers.  They  let  her  sit  there  for  an 
hour,  and  then  one,  who  could  bear  the  sight 
of  the  white,  miserable  face  no  longer,  came 
and  asked  her  if  she  were  ill,  and  if  there  were 
anything  she  could  do  for  her. 

Frances  started  and  looked  about  her 
wonderingly,  then  got  up  and  went  away,  leav- 
ing her  coffee  untasted  and  unpaid  for  upon 
the  table.  No  one  attempted  to  stop  her. 
There  was  something  in  her  face  which  forbade 
question  and  went  to  the  hearts  of  those  who 
saw  her. 

She  wandered  about  the  city  until  the  hour 
approached  for  the  examination.  Then  she  went 
to  the  hall  and  took  her  seat,  without  a  word 
of  greeting  for  the  little  knot  of  her 
acquaintances  who  stood  together  near  the 
doorway. 

A  few  minutes  later  they  too  took  their 
seats,  and  the  papers  were  distributed.  Frances 


A  DISASTER.  225 

took  up  the  sheet  with  trembling  fingers.  She 
had  worked  so  hard,  she  was  so  well  prepared, 
it  was  inevitable  that  she  should  pass 
brilliantly.  In  thought  she  had  often  heard 
herself  spoken  of  as  one  who  had  brought 
honour  to  the  Hospital,  and  the  next  generation 
of  students  would  recall  her  work  with  bated 
breath.  She  was  going  to  take  her  place  in  the 
world  and  force  the  sceptical  to  acknowledge 
that  there  was  a  work  for  the  woman-doctor 
and  that  she  did  it  well. 

Vain  hope,  vain  effort  I  The  questions  were 
vague  and  meaningless  to  her.  She  neither 
grasped  their  intent  nor  found  the  least  glimmer- 
ing of  an  answer  to  them  in  her  mind.  She 
could  only  sit  with  the  paper  before  her, 
writing  nothing,  gradually  comprehending  the 
dreadful  truth  that  if  she  sat  there  for  hours 
she  would  write  nothing. 

Only  at  the  last  moment,  when  the  bustle 
of  retiring  students  warned  her  that  the  time 
allowed  for  the  paper  had  expired,  did  she 
accept  defeat.  She  got  up  and  stumbled 
blindly  from  the  room.  As  she  went  down 
the  staircase  two  or  three  girls,  chatting 
together,  stopped  and  looked  at  her,  startled  by 
the  expression  on  the  little  white  face.  One 


226  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

touched  her  gently  on  the  arm  as  she 
passed. 

"  Our  ways  lie  in  the  same  direction,  Miss 
,  Kemsing.  I  you  can  wait  till  I  fetch  my  hat, 
we  might  walk  together,"  she  said  kindly. 

Frances  stared  at  her  blankly.  "Why 
should  you  wish  me  to  walk  with  you?"  she 
cried  passionately.  "Let  me  alone  in  my 
misery." 

She  threw  aside  Mary  Callender's  detaining 
hand,  and  ran  down  the  stairs  and  out  into 
the  afternoon  sunshine. 

Mary  Callender  drew  back  with  a  pale 
face.  She  had  worked  with  Frances  for  months, 
and  the  two  had  been  the  best  of  friends. 

"She  has  overworked.  I  knew  she  was 
doing  too  much,"  she  said,  awe-struck.  "She 
looked  at  me  as  though  I  were  the  veriest 
stranger.  I  don't  believe  she  remembered  ever 
having  seen  one  of  us  before." 

Mona  Smith  nodded.  "She  sat  near  me, 
and  I  saw  that  she  did  not  write  a  line.  Her 
paper  was  clean  as  when  it  was  given  out,  and 
I  know  that  she  was  awfully  well  up.  Let  us 
go  after  her  to  her  diggings.  She  doesn't  look 
fit  to  be  alone,  and  Ursula  Grantham  is  not  in 
London." 


A  DISASTER.  227 

But  Frances  had  not  gone  back  to  Skone 
Street.  All  that  long  and  terrible  day  her 
thoughts  had  gone  insistently  to  Hilary,  and 
her  desire  to  be  with  her  became  her  crying 
need.  When  she  left  the  hall  she  had  only  one 
idea,  to  go  to  her  without  delay.  Mechanic- 
ally her  steps  turned  towards  St.  Pancras 
Station. 

She  had  enough  money  in  her  purse  to  pay 
for  her  ticket,  and  sat  down  on  the  platform  to 
wait  for  a  train.  She  never  knew  how  long 
she  waited,  but  evening  had  fallen  when  she 
alighted  at  the  wayside  station  and  set  out  to 
walk  to  Meadham. 

She  went  slowly,  very  slowly,  for  she  was 
dazed  and  weak  with  her  long  fast  and  the 
horror  of  the  day.  Her  progress  was  like  that 
of  a  child  recovering  from  a  long  illness,  a 
hesitating  and  stumbling  along  the  dusty  lane. 
She  looked  like  a  child,  too,  in  the  twilight, 
with  her  small,  wan  face,  her  close-cropped 
hair,  her  tiny  figure  in  its  dark,  clinging  gown. 

She  had  asked  for  no  directions,  and  walked 
on  blindly,  scarcely  conscious  when,  at  a 
bend  in  the  lane,  she  left  the  beaten  track 
and  plunged  into  a  spinney  of  brush  and 
birches.  In  the  dungeon-like  darkness  of  the 


228  MRS.  PEDERSOH'S  NIECE. 

wood  she  went,  groping  her  way,  stumbling 
over  tree  roots,  knocking  herself  against  the 
boles.  Here  and  there,  through  rents  in  the 
leafy  roof,  the  glimmer  of  starlight  reached  her, 
a  dim  shine  which  only  exaggerated  the  dark- 
ness of  the  wood  beyond. 

Presently  the  wind  began  to  huddle  the 
birches  and  to  murmur  amongst  them.  Now 
it  sounded  for  a  few  minutes  with  a  steady, 
even  rush,  then  it  would  swell  and  break  like 
a  wave  on  the  seashore.  Frances  was  not 
frightened  as  she  had  been  by  the  glory  of 
the  morning  sunshine.  She  felt  that  nothing  else 
on  earth  could  give  her  the  pain  of  that  hour 
of  dawn  and  her  intolerable  fear  of  it. 

It  was  the  first  night  she  had  ever  spent  under 
the  open  sky,  but  no  sense  of  alarm  possessed 
her.  The  darkness  seemed  to  fold  her  round  in  a 
close  and  comforting  embrace.  She  sank  down 
at  the  foot  of  a  tree  and  rested  her  aching 
head  against  its  bole.  She  had  lost  the  power 
of  consecutive  thought,  and  gradually  the 
wind  acted  as  a  lullaby  and  sleep  took  posses- 
sion of  her. 

She  woke  chilled  and  stiff,  to  find  the 
world  flooded  with  the  faint  blue  light  which 
precedes  the  dawn  and  is  never  seen  but  as  the 


A  DISASTER.  229 

herald  of  morning.  The  woods  were  sighing 
and  shivering  in  the  cool,  strong  wind,  and 
the  piping  of  birds  only  seemed  to  increase  the 
awesome  stillness. 

For  a  moment  she  was  at  a  loss  to  account 
for  her  presence  in  this  strange  place ;  then 
there  came  slowly  back  to  her  the  recollection  of 
her  flight  from  town  and  her  impelling  desire  to 
find  Hilary. 

She  got  up  with  difficulty,  and  shook  the 
forest-mast  from  her  gown,  which  clung  about 
her  damp  and  heavy.  She  saw  now  that 
she  had  wandered  from  the  lane,  and  that 
she  must  retrace  her  steps  if  she  would  reach 
the  village.  Looking  through  an  opening  made 
by  woodcutters  in  the  thick  tanglewood,  she 
could  see  the  spire  of  Meadham  Church,  the 
chimneys  of  the  cottages,  and  the  long  roof 
of  a  house  which  she  guessed  to  be  Fairmead. 
She  gathered  up  her  skirts  and  walked  on, 
inquiring  her  way  of  a  passing  labourer,  who 
pointed  out  the  little  footpath  which  led  along 
the  river  bank  to  the  cottage. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

DARK  DAYS  AT  THE  COTTAGE. 

EARLY  that  morning  Hilary  was  up  and  out 
of  doors.  She  had,  for  once,  slept  ill,  and  rose 
with  an  uncomfortable  sense  of  having  dreamed 
bad  dreams. 

"  Clearly  I  want  something  to  do,"  she  said, 
as  she  dressed  quickly.  "I  don't  ask  that  life 
shall  be  all  rose-coloured,  but  I  object  to  it 
being  uniformly  drab.  I  must  find  work  of 
some  kind,  or  I  shall  develop  a  fiendish 
temper." 

It  was  a  fortnight  since  Mrs.  Hilder  and 
her  son  left  Fairmead,  and  though  two  or  three 
letters  had  passed  between  the  Cottage  and 
Wiesbaden,  Mrs.  Hilder's  had  conveyed  no 
very  definite  news.  Mr.  Hilder  had  undergone 
an  examination,  but  the  oculist  had  pronounced 
no  opinion,  and  the  operation  was  postponed 
from  day  to  day. 

For  Hilary  the  weeks  dragged  wearily ; 
anxiety  made  her  restless,  and  she  missed  the 
occupation  which  had  been  her  chief  pleasure. 


"'Well,  for  independence   and    sheer  audacity,  commend    me  to 
Hilary  Pederson!'"   (p.   184). 


DARK  DAYS  AT  THE  COTTAGE.        231 

"  Now  you  can  sympathise  with  me,  Hilary," 
Mrs.  Pederson  said.  "You  will  be  ready 
to  go  back  to  town  as  soon  as  the  Hilders 
come  home.  You  only  agreed  to  stay  until 
then,  and  a  silly  thing  it  was  to  promise.  I 
think  I  will  write  to  Mrs.  Bateson  at  once  and 
ask  her  if  she  can  take  us  in.  It  is  all 
nonsense  about  our  not  being  able  to  afford 
such  accommodation  as  she  can  give." 

Hilary  shook  her  head.  "Don't  write  yet, 
please,  Aunt  Sophie,"  she  said.  "Wait  until 
Mr.  Hilder  comes  back.  It  will  be  quite  soon 
enough." 

Not  even  to  Mrs.  Pederson  could  she  tell 
what  lay  behind  her  reluctance  to  take  any 
steps  towards  leaving  Meadham.  If  what  they 
hoped  for  never  came  to  pass  and  Mr.  Hilder  still 
needed  her,  nothing  should  persuade  her  to  go 
back  to  town. 

It  was  barely  six  o'clock  when  Hilary 
stepped  out  into  the  garden  and  ran  quickly 
across  the  lawn  to  the  little  gate  which  opened 
on  the  path  beside  the  river.  This  was  a 
favourite  walk  with  her,  and  little  frequented, 
being  a  private  footpath  leading  to  the  village 
and  to  Fairmead.  She  was  not  likely  to 
meet  anyone  at  this  hour.  Few  people  in 


232  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

Meadhara  shared  her  delight  in  early  walks. 
Mrs.  Pederson  always  said  she  liked  the  world 
well-aired,  and  it  made  her  shiver  to  see  the 
mist  lying  over  the  fields  and  every  twig  with 
its  row  of  diamonds.  This  morning  the  birds 
were  yet  drowsily  stirring  in  their  nests,  and 
across  the  fields  came  the  lowing  of  cows  at 
the  milking  place. 

Suddenly  Hilary  stopped  in  her  brisk  walk 
and  her  heart  beat  faster  than  usual.  Someone 
was  coming  towards  her  swiftly,  someone  in  a 
soft,  dark  gown,  clinging  damply  about  her, 
with  face  and  hands  gleaming  white  through 
the  morning  mist. 

She  stood  motionless  for  a  moment  as 
though  petrified.  Then  she  sprang  forward 
quickly. 

"  Francie,  Francie  I  can  it  be  you  ? "  she 
cried,  throwing  her  strong  young  arms  about 
her  cousin.  It  was  Frances,  to  be  sure.  Those 
were  Frances'  eyes  which  looked  into  Hilary's 
with  a  weariness  beyond  description ;  those 
were  Frances'  hands  which  grasped  her 
shoulders  with  the  clinging  of  one  who  has 
nothing  else  to  hold  by ;  that  was  Frances' 
face,  drawn  and  haggard  as  Hilary  had  never 
seen  it  before. 


DARK  DAYS  AT  THE  COTTAGE.        233 

"I  want  to  be  with  you,  Hilary,"  Frances 
said  weakly.  "I  have  been  coming  to  you 
since  yesterday.  I  have  been  out  all  night. 
I  think  I  slept  in  a  wood,  but  my  head  hurts 
so  much  that  I  cannot  remember." 

Hilary  held  her  tightly.  Something  terrible 
had  happened,  but  it  was  plain  that  Frances 
was  in  no  condition  to  explain. 

"But  now  you  have  found  me,  dear,  you 
need  not  worry  any  more,"  she  said  tenderly. 
"  Lean  on  me,  and  I  will  take  you  to  the 
Cottage.  It  is  quite  near." 

Frances    yielded   herself  passively    into    the 

younger   girl's    care.    She    felt   too    weak    and 

weary  to  care    for    any    external    thing.     Even 

the  panic  of  yesterday  and  her  terrible  failure 

,  were  fading  from  her  mind. 

It  was  still  so  early  that  no  one  except  old 
Margaret  was  astir  when  the  girls  reached  the 
Cottage.  In  a  few  words  Hilary  explained 
Frances'  presence,  and  with  the  help  of  the 
old  servant  carried  her  upstairs  and  got  her 
into  bed.  This  was  scarcely  done  before  the 
weary  wanderer  sank  into  a  deep  sleep  which 
was  almost  a  stupor. 

Leaving  her  with  Margaret,  Hilary  went 
to  tell  Mrs.  Vision  and  her  aunt  what  had 


234  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

happened  and  to  find  a  maid  who  could  fetch 
a  doctor.  "Something  dreadful  has  happened/' 
she  said,  with  quivering  lip.  "Thank  God  she 
thought  of  coming  straight  to  us." 

The  doctor's  face  was  grave  as  he  made  his 
examination  and  looked  at  the  frail  and  over- 
taxed little  frame.  It  was  undoubtedly  a  case 
of  high  fever,  and  the  patient  had  evidently 
had  a  severe  shock  of  some  kind.  Its  effect 
on  a  system  strained  to  the  utmost  could  not 
fail  to  be  disastrous,  though  with  great  care 
and  skilful  nursing  she  might  pull  through. 

There  was  no  question  now  of  Hilary's 
sighing  for  lack  of  occupation.  With  Mrs. 
Vision,  she  devoted  herself  to  the  nursing  of 
Frances,  wondering  many  a  time  what  was  the 
shock  which  had  so  shattered  the  girl's  health. 
One  day  she  wrote  to  Mona  Smith  and  asked 
if  Frances  had  sat  for  the  examination,  and 
whether  she  had  shown  any  signs  ol  break- 
down before  leaving  town. 

Mona  answered  the  letter  at  once,  telling 
Hilary  all  she  knew  of  Frances'  odd  bearing 
in  the  examination  hall  and  her  absolute 
failure. 

"It  was  what  Ursula  Grantham  feared," 
Hilary  said,  showing  the  letter  to  Mrs.  Vision. 


DARK  DAYS  AT  THE  COTTAGE.        235 

"The  string  too  tightly  stretched  is  sure  to 
snap.  Poor  Frances  1  I  dread  the  day  when 
she  comes  to  remember.  She  once  said  that 
she  would  never  try  again.  If  she  failed,  she 
said,  her  career  was  closed." 

Mrs.  Pederson,  in  whom  illness  always 
produced  something  like  a  panic,  was  of  little  use 
in  the  sick-room.  There  was  no  doubting  her 
anxiety,  however,  and  it  was  evident  that  she 
suffered  greatly  in  these  sad,  miserable  weeks. 
If  Hilary  had  doubted  that  Mrs.  Pederson  had 
much  affection  for  her  daughter,  she  did  so  no 
longer.  Nothing  shows  the  strength  of  family 
ties  like  the  possibility  of  their  being  broken. 
Many  a  day  began  with  the  uncertainty  whether 
Frances  would  see  its  sunset,  and,  at  night, 
Hilary  often  took  her  place  beside  the  bed 
wondering  whether  the  patient's  blank  gaze 
would  open  on  another  dawn. 

Mrs.  Pederson  wandered  about  the  house  in 
a  state  of  conscious  and  wretched  superfluous- 
ness.  She  forgot  that  she  had  ever  felt  Frances 
presence  a  vexation,  and  declared  her  own  future 
for  ever  begloomed  if  it  had  to  be  spent  without 
her.  In  the  hour  of  possible  parting,  mother- 
love  sprang  full-grown  into  life.  Not  mother-love 
as  many  of  us  understand  it,  but  the  truest 


236  Mas.  PEDERSON'S  NIECB. 

poor  Mrs.  Pederson's  limited  nature  could 
germinate. 

Of  Mrs.  Vision  and  Hilary  she  was  pro- 
foundly and  unreasonably  jealous,  envying 
them  the  tasks  she  was  herself  incompetent 
to  perform.  Hilary  could  not  help  pitying 
her  deeply,  even  when  her  own  temper 
was  chafed  by  her  aunt's  stream  of  complaints 
and  her  perpetual  protest  that  Mrs.  Vision  and 
her  niece  were  bent  on  robbing  her  of  Frances' 
affection. 

Hilary  in  these  days  was  indeed  "working 
in  the  furrows,"  and  had  need  of  "joy  to  come 
and  sing  to  her." 

It  was  well  that  she  had  Mrs.  Vision  to 
lean  upon.  There  are  some  women  whose 
mere  presence  is  a  rock  for  defence  and  shelter 
in  the  time  of  stress,  and  Mrs.  Vision  was  one 
of  these.  In  earlier  and  brighter  days,  the 
drawing-room  in  her  pleasant  house  in  Gordon 
Square  had  been,  to  a  little  band  of  workers 
in  all  ranks,  by  turns  a  camp  of  refuge,  a  con- 
fessional, and  a  shrine.  Some  kinds  of  philan- 
thropy cannot  be  scheduled,  and  what  Agnes 
Vision  did  for  her  friends  will  never  be  known. 
She  would  say  laughingly  that  she  had  no  time 
for  committees  and  leagues,  and  that  she  had 


DARK  DAYS  AT  THE  COTTAGE.        237 

her  own  work,  though  it  could  not  be  tabulated. 
While  so  many  people  were  "doing,"  it  was  not 
a  small  thing  for  the  world  that  someone  should 
just  "  be"  and  it  taxed  all  her  powers  merely 
to  live. 

After  all,  hers  was  no  mean  task,  if  it 
were  only  to  hold  the  cup  of  refreshment  to 
the  lips  of  some  weary  pilgrim,  to  buckle  on 
the  armour  of  one  going  down  into  the  battle. 
She  remembered  the  words  of  a  modern  writer, 
that  "always  behind  the  flaming  renown  ot 
some  great  man  there  is  a  woman's  hand, 
pouring  unseen  the  nutritive  oil  of  encourage- 
ment and  praise,"  and  she  was  content  if  she 
could  but  play  this  part  well.  She  was  all 
this  and  more  to  our  Hilary,  travelling  over  one 
of  the  roughest  places  in  her  young  life. 

At  last  there  came  a  day  when  the  weight 
of  depressing  anxiety  began  to  slip  from  the 
shoulders  of  the  watchers  at  the  Cottage.  It 
was  possible  to  hope,  though  even  yet  only 
faintly.  Frances'  tireless  babbling  ceased,  the 
hectic  flush  faded  from  the  thin  little  face,  and 
the  doctor's  eyes  smiled  as  he  looked  across  the 
bed  at  Mrs.  Vision. 

"We  shall  pull  her  through  now,  if  all  goes 
well,"  he  said.  "She'll  owe  her  life  to  you 


238  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

and  that  bonny  Miss  Hilary.  It  has  been  a 
hand-to-hand  fight,  and  so  there's  some  credit 
in  winning." 

Mrs.  Vision  called  Margaret  to  take  her  place, 
and  went  downstairs  at  once  to  tell  Hilary. 
The  girl  was  walking  in  the  garden,  where 
the  trees  were  fast  losing  their  leaves,  and 
the  shrubs  had  begun  to  look  black  and 
shrivelled. 

She  was  pacing  slowly  to  and  fro,  reading 
a  letter  she  held  in  her  hand.  When  she 
turned  to  meet  Mrs.  Vision,  there  was  a  light 
in  her  eyes  which  had  not  been  there  for 
weeks. 

"Your  face  says  Francie  is  better,"  she  said 
brightly.  "This  is  indeed  a  red-letter  day.  I 
have  just  had  a  note  from  Mrs.  Hilder,  and 
there  is  one  in  the  hall  for  you.  They  are  com- 
ing home  the  week  after  next  When  I  stopped 
the  doctor  at  the  gate  and  heard  that  Francie 
was  going  to  recover,  I  thought  the  world  was 
beginning  to  go  well  with  us  again.  It  is 
strange  that  Mrs.  Hilder  says  nothing  about  the 
operation,  but  surely  no  news  is  good  news. 
If  things  had  gone  badly  her  heart  would  be 
so  broken  that  she  could  not  have  written  of 
anything  else." 


DARK  DAYS  AT  THE  COTTAGE.        239 

Mrs.  Vision  nodded  absently.  Though  she 
said  nothing  to  damp  Hilary's  expectancy, ,  she 
feared  the  more  because  of  this  silence.  She 
had  something  of  Mrs.  Hilder's  spirit,  and  knew 
the  instinct  which  bids  the  heart  hide  its 
agony  and  show  to  the  world  an  unruffled 
front. 

"Frances  is  sleeping  now,  so,  if  you  like, 
you  may  go  up  to  her  room,"  she  said. 
"When  she  wakes  I  expect  she  will  know  us 
all." 

Hilary's  eyes  shone.  "God  is  very  good," 
she  said  softly.  "I  must  go  and  tell  Aunt 
Sophie.  She  will  be  so  glad,  poor  dear.  It  has 
been  such  a  trial  to  her  not  to  be  able  to 
nurse  Francie,  but  there  will  be  much  she  can 
do  now." 

She  went  off  to  the  dining-room,  where  Mrs. 
Pederson  was  nodding  drowsily  over  a  news- 
paper. Hilary's  news  banished  all  sleepiness  in 
a  moment,  and  the  paper  dropped  from  her 
trembling  fingers.  She  tried  to  speak,  but  words 
failed,  and  tears  rolled  down  her  wrinkled 
cheeks. 

"I  never  knew  how  I  loved  that  child  till 
she  seemed  slipping  away  from  me,"  she  said, 
wiping  her  eyes.  "  Never  love  too  little,  Hilary ; 


240  MRS.  PEDEKSON'S  NIECE. 

nothing  hurts  more  when  you  think  it's  too  late 
to  make  up  for  your  coolness.  I've  thought  a 
lot  since  I've  had  so  much  time  on  my  hands. 
I've  thought  of  Frances,  baby,  child  and 
woman,  till  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  see  why 
we  never  got  on  together.  If  she  had  been 
more  like  you,  Hilary,  perhaps  we  should  have 
cared  for  one  another  more.  She  was  always 
too  clever  for  me,  and  little  good  her  clever- 
ness has  done  her,  after  all.  It's  going  to  be 
different  altogether — that  is,  if  Frances  does  not 
keep  up  old  grievances,  and  I  don't  think  she 
will.  A  girl  cannot  go  down  to  the  gates  of 
death,  surely,  and  be  no  better.  Anyhow,  I  am 
going  to  nurse  her  now.  There  is  nothing  I 
can't  do  for  a  convalescent  as  well  as  Mrs. 
Vision,  though  Dr.  Maydew  says  she  has  a  genius 
for  nursing." 

It  was  only  to  be  expected  that  Frances' 
recovery  should  be  slow  and  gradual.  She 
seemed  to  lack  all  that  desire  for  life  which  is 
one  of  the  greatest  aids  to  restoration.  She  lay 
day  after  day,  languid  and  speechless,  staring 
out  of  the  window,  thinking,  dreaming,  yet 
never  speaking  of  the  disappointment  and  failure 
which  filled  her  mind  and  brought  the  furrow 
of  pain  into  her  white  forehead.  She  submitted 


DARK  DAYS  AT  THE  COTTAGE.         241 

to  be  petted  with  the  listless  languor  of  a 
spoiled  child  in  the  early  stages  of  convalescence, 
and  received  the  attentions  of  her  nurses  with 
a  sullen  apathy  quite  foreign  to  her.  Self- 
absorbed  Frances  might  be,  but  she  had  never 
been  ungrateful. 

On  the  day  fixed  for  the  return  or  the 
Hilders  to  Fairmead,  she  was  well  enough  to 
be  carried  to  a  sofa  near  the  fire  in  Mrs. 
Pederson's  sitting-room.  Hilary  sat  at  the 
window,  listening  for  the  barking  of  the  dogs 
which  would  announce  the  arrival  of  the 
travellers. 

Frances  watched  her  indolently. 

"  You  will  begin  work  again  now  ? "  she 
said.  "I  shall  miss  you,  for  convalescence  is  a 
thousand  times  duller  than  illness.  How  many 
days  will  your  master  allow  you  before  you  go 
into  harness  again  ?  " 

Hilary  frowned.  "Don't,  Francie,"  she 
said,  in  a  strangled  voice.  "Do  you  forget 
that  if  he  wants  me  at  all,  it  will  be  because 
the  operation  has  failed  ?  I'm  waiting  to  know. 
I  wish  I  were  not  so  horribly  afraid  for  him. 
Mrs.  Vision  will  harbour  no  doubts ;  she  thinks 
Mrs.  Hilder  would  have  told  her  if  it  had 
failed,  but  the  letters  have  said  nothing  about  it" 


242  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECB. 

"'No  news,  good  news/  says  the  proverb/' 
Frances  replied  lazily.  "  If  you  are  so  anxious, 
why  don't  you  go  down  to  Fairmead  and  see 
for  yourself?  It's  worrying  to  see  you  sit 
there,  looking  like  Patience  on  a  monument, 
concealing  a  preying  anxiety." 

Hilary  coloured  and  bit  her  lip.  Not  so 
long  ago  she  would  have  needed  no  telling; 
she  would  have  snatched  up  her  hat  and  have 
been  at  the  gate  to  meet  the  travellers.  To- 
day, some  odd  shyness,  to  which  she  could  not 
give  a  name,  held  her  back* 


CHAPTER   XX. 

THE  VALLEY  OF  SHADOWS. 

HILARY  was  going  up  to  her  room  that  night 
when  Mrs.  Vision  entered  the  hall  from  the 
garden,  a  shawl  thrown  over  her  fair  hair. 

"Yes,  I  have  been  up  to  Fairmead,"  she 
said,  answering  the  question  in  Hilary's  eyes. 
There  was  a  note  of  sadness  in  her  vibrant 
voice,  and  her  face  wore  a  grave  expression. 
rt  I  did  not  see  Max ;  he  had  gone  out  to 
smoke  a  cigar.  It  was  all  of  no  use,  Hilary. 
Mrs.  Hilder  says  that  Pagenstecher  gave  only 
the  faintest  hope,  and  even  that  was  elusive. 
Poor  Max  may  have  to  walk  in  darkness  all 
the  days  of  his  life." 

The  girl's  face  paled,  and  she  clung  to  the 
rail  of  the  banister.  She  did  not  know  till 
then  how  much  she  had  actually  hoped  for 
Mr.  Hilder' s  recovery,  and  how  truly  she 
suffered  for  him. 

"How  can  he  bear  it?"  she  said,  through 
her  clenched  teeth. 

Mrs.  Vision  lifted  her  heafi  with  that  pride 


244  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

she  never  failed  to  feel  in  any  form  of  human 
courage  and  heroism. 

"  Mrs.  Hilder  says  he  bears  it  wonderfully. 
She  has  never  heard  one  word  of  complaint. 
He  accepts  his  cross  without  a  shadow  of 
repining.  He  is  even  full  of  the  tlan  of  youth 
and  life.  He  regrets  his  loss  on  his  mother's 
account,  while  she,  poor  thing,  says  that  even 
in  the  midst  of  the  sorrow,  she  feels  there  are 
compensations.  He  will  never  leave  her  now. 
Once  his  work  took  him  away  often;  he 
travelled  greatly.  He  will  travel  no  more 
without  her,  and  she  cannot  help  feeling  that 
his  presence  compensates  her  a  little,  though  she 
blames  herself  for  the  feeling." 

"  Nothing  can  compensate  him"  Hilary  said 
sadly.  Yet  as  she  went  up  to  her  room,  one 
thought  came  again  and  again  to  her  mind; 
she  had  her  compensation.  He  would  need 
her  still.  Her  work  at  Meadham  was  not 
done,  and  she  would  not  be  called  to  leave  it. 

She  pulled  up  the  blind  and  looked  out 
into  the  night.  The  full  moon  stood  over  the 
fir  wood,  painting  the  autumn  landscape  with  its 
silvery  beams.  It  brightened  copse  and  river 
bank  and  the  riband  of  pathway  which  led 
from  the  Cottage  to  Fairmead.  The  trees  had 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SHADOWS.  245 

lost  their  wealth  of  foliage,  and  Hilary  could  see 
the  dark  mass  of  the  old  house  and  its  stacks 
of  chimneys  ink-black  in  the  moonlit  landscape. 
Half  gazing  at  the  beautiful  scene,  half  dreaming 
of  what  Mrs.  Vision  had  told  her,  Hilary 
became  suddenly  aware  of  a  figure,  moving 
hesitatingly  and  uncertainly  in  the  shadow  of 
the  wood.  Near  the  Cottage  garden  it  stopped 
and  turned,  stretching  the  arms  out  with  the 
gesture  of  one  in  dire  distress.  Hilary  stood 
riveted  to  the  spot,  straining  her  eyes  to  dis- 
cover who  it  might  be  wandering  along  the 
private  path  so  near  to  the  Cottage.  As  she 
watched,  the  figure  emerged  into  the  moonlight, 
and  she  recognised  Max  Hilder. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  motionless.  Then 
she  pulled  down  the  blind  and  moved  quickly 
from  the  window.  There  was  that  in  his  gait 
and  bearing  that  told  her  he  was  weary  and 
heart-sick,  and,  for  the  moment,  had  thrown  off 
the  armour  he  wore  before  others.  Even 
she  who  understood  and  pitied  him  from  the 
bottom  of  her  warm,  generous  young  heart, 
would  not  look  upon  his  struggle. 

Yes,  the  full  moon  which  brightened  copse 
and  field  could  not  brighten  the  future,  which 
stretched  dark  and  empty  before  the  master  ot 


246  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

Fairmead.  Though  he  might  show  an  unruffled 
front  to  the  world,  he  had  his  dark  hours,  and 
one  was  upon  him  now. 

He  knew  that  everyone  wondered  at  his 
courage  and  praised  his  gallant  bearing ;  the 
recollection  brought  a  bitter  smile  to  his  face. 
If  they  but  knew  how  desperately  hard  it  was  at 
times  to  let  ambition,  youthful  daring,  and 
hopes  of  love  go  by,  and  to  piece  together 
the  broken  potsherds  of  life  which  were  all  that 
were  left  to  him  1 

He  stumbled  along  the  river  path  till  he 
reached  Mrs.  Vision's  boundary,  and  leaned  on 
the  rustic  fence.  He  had  expected  to  find 
Hilary  at  the  house  when  he  returned,  and 
Mrs.  Vision's  explanation  of  Frances  Kemsing's 
illness  and  the  necessity  of  the  girl's  attendance 
upon  her,  scarcely  satisfied  him.  He  knew 
that  the  thought  ot  Hilary  had  been  with  him 
constantly  since  he  had  settled  for  ever  in  the 
valley  of  shadows,  and  he  congratulated  himself 
that  for  once  his  folly  had  been  wisdom.  He 
rejoiced  that  he  had  had  one  glimpse  of  that 
radiant  girlish  face,  since  the  sight  must  last 
him  a  lifetime. 

He  was  thinking  of  Hilary  as  he  paced  to 
and  fro  slowly.  She  had  counted  for  much  both 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SHADOWS.  247 

with  his  mother  and  himself  since  she  danced 
into  their  life  so  prosaically,  in  answer  to  an 
advertisement.  He  recalled  her  clear,  gay 
voice,  her  little  bursts  of  laughter,  her  frank, 
direct  views  upon  one  and  every  subject  which 
came  under  discussion,  her  sudden  enthusiasms 
and  her  innocently  severe  judgments. 

And  what  a  worker  she  was !  Surely  a  man 
never  had  a  more  energetic  and  whole-hearted 
secretary,  given  even  to  works  of  supereroga- 
tion, as  though  her  hours  were  not  long  and 
tedious  enough. 

There  was  no  question  now  of  her  leaving 
Meadham ;  he  could  do  without  her  less  than 
ever.  Yet  as  this  thought  flashed  across  his 
mind  he  recalled  something  Mrs.  Vision  had 
said.  The  old  aunt  was  getting  restless,  and  had 
announced  her  intention  of  returning  to  town 
as  soon  as  Hilary's  engagement  was  fulfilled. 
Perhaps  arrangements  had  already  been  made 
and  Hilary's  failure  to  meet  her  friends  arose 
from  a  dislike  to  tell  them  that  they  must 
part. 

He  threw  his  cigar  into  the  grass,  where  it 
glowed  a  moment  like  a  tiny  spark  of  fire. 
That  possibility  opened  a  chamber  in  the  young 
man's  heart,  the  existence  of  which  he  had  only 


248  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

vaguely  suspected.  He  was  startled,  displeased, 
aghast  at  the  sorrow  he  was  preparing  for  him- 
self. 

What  was  this  wild  dream  he  was  cherish- 
ing ?  Like  a  chill  wind,  stern  reality  smote  him 
in  the  face,  and  he  turned  away,  whispering 
that  he  must  cure  himself  of  this  folly. 

There  was  much  left,  even  to  a  man  blind 
and  helpless,  but  he  must  not  ask  for  brightness 
and  youth  to  link  themselves  with  his  dark- 
ness. He  could  dream  of  woman's  love,  but  he 
might  never  ask  for  it. 

Next  day  Hilary  went  up  to  Fairmead. 
She  was  shown  at  once  to  the  library,  where 
mother  and  son  were  sitting  together.  Some- 
thing in  the  aspect  of  the  room  and  the 
attitudes  of  the  two  struck  a  chill  to  the  girl's 
heart  She  told  herself,  afterwards,  that  it  was 
the  atmosphere  of  accepted  trouble,  the  sitting 
down,  as  it  were,  to  bear  it,  that  hurt  her. 
It  was  always  Hilary's  way  to  fight  a  trouble, 
to  say  to  climbing  sorrow,  "  Thy  element's 
below,"  and  she  had  expected  Max  to  share 
her  feeling.  She  did  not  think  that  she 
admired  him  in  the  attitude  of  resignation. 

She  looked  round  the  room  quickly.  Mrs. 
Hilder  sat  in  a  high-backed  chair  in  the 


THE  VALLEY  OP  SHADOWS.  249 

window,  her  white  hands  lying  idle  in  her 
silken  lap ;  Max  stood  propping  his  broad 
back  against  the  mantelshelf  The  table  was 
swept  clear  of  the  litter  of  papers  it  always 
bore,  and  books  were  stacked  neatly  on 
the  shelves.  Surely  this  did  not  mean 
that  work  was  to  be  put  aside  from  to- 
day, and  that  the  epoch-making  book  was 
never  to  be  finished  1  Mrs.  Vision's  account 
of  Max's  mood  had  not  suggested  this,  and 
Hilary  resolved  with  girlish  confidence  that 
it  should  not  last  if  she  could  help  it. 

Mrs.  Hilder  smiled  faintly  as  the  girl  crossed 
the  room  and  uttered  her  name  in  a  tone  of 
affectionate  welcome. 

"You  see,  we  are  home  again,  my  dear," 
she  said  gently.  "I  suppose  Agnes  has  told 
you  that  our  journey  was  fruitless.  Even  hope 
is  no  longer  left  us.  But  Max  refuses  to  be 
crushed;  he  is  brave  as  ever." 

Hilary  looked  from  mother  to  son  with 
dim  eyes.  In  the  presence  of  trouble  she 
always  forgot  self  and  circumstance,  in  an 
overwhelming  desire  to  help  and  comfort.  "  I 
am  so  sorry,  so  unspeakably  sorry  1 "  she 
cried. 

Max  Hilder    felt,  though  he  could  not  see, 


250  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

the  pitying  gaze  she  turned  upon  him,  and  he 
smiled. 

"It  is  no  use  denying  that  this  has  been 
the  going  down  of  a  great  hope,  Miss  Hilary. 
Pagenstecher's  verdict  leaves  the  future  pretty 
blank." 

Hilary  shook  her  head.  "The  future  may 
still  be  just  as  full  and  bright  as  you  care  to 
make  it,  Mr.  Hilder,"  she  cried  eagerly.  "You 
have  not  got  your  breath  yet,  you  know ; 
things  will  look  quite  different  by-and-bye. 
There  was  Homer,  and  Milton,  you  know,"  she 
went  on  with  cheerful  irrelevance.  "  They 
did  lots  of  work  under  just  the  same  dis- 
advantages. And  you  have  me.  I  am  not 
humble  enough  to  think  myself  a  nonentity. 
Surely  you  are  not  going  to  tell  me  that  my 
eyes  are  not  good  enough  to  be  supplementary 
to  yours,  and  that  even  with  my  help  you 
cannot  finish  the  book.  I  will  do  all  I  possibly 
can,  if  you  will  let  me." 

Hilder's  lips  twitched  as  he  listened  to  this 
impetuous,  warm-hearted  speech.  He  was 
glad  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart  that  he  had 
seen  Hilary  once,  though  for  such  a  brief 
space  of  time.  He  knew  just  how  she  was 
looking  at  him  now,  the  grey  eyes  shining, 


THE  VALLEY  OF  SHADOWS.  251 

the  mobile  face  upturned,  and  the  sweet  lips 
apart. 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  he 
laughed — the  pleasantest  laugh  his  mother  had 
heard  since  they  had  left  Germany. 

"It  were  a  shame  to  despond  with  such  a 
comrade,"  he  said  lightly.  "I  accept  your 
help,  Miss  Hilary,  though  I  dare  not  hope 
that,  even  backed  up  by  you,  I  shall  make  a 
trio  with  Homer  and  Milton." 

He  went  to  the  table  and  swept  a  pile  of 
manuscript  from  a  drawer.  "Why  shouldn't  we 
set  things  in  order  at  once  for  a  start  ?  "  he  said. 
"  I  have  wasted  enough  time  already,  and  I  am 
sick  of  idleness.  There  ought  to  be  some  notes 
which  a  fellow-student  took  for  me  when  we 
were  in  Wiesbaden,  among  this  batch  of  papers. 
Look  them  out,  and  we  will  fit  them  into  their 
place  in  the  manuscript." 

Hilary  threw  off  her  hat  and  set  to  work, 
whilst  her  employer  roughly  sketched  a  new 
development  of  the  book  he  had  decided  upon. 

Mrs.  Hilder  watched  them  with  a  happy 
light  in  her  dark  eyes.  She  had  no  fears  for 
Max  now.  He  would  take  up  his  work  again, 
and  she  would  not  have  to  sit  by  and  watch 
the  epicurean  patience  which  had  tried  her 


2$ 2  MRS.  PEDER SON'S  NIECE. 

sorely  once  before.  She  blessed  Hilary  in  her 
heart,  and  felt  that  it  was  a  happy  day  for 
Fairmead  and  its  master  when  she  came  across 
its  threshold. 

She  had  come  among  them  without  flourish 
of  trumpets.  She  had  just  slipped  into  her 
place  and  set  herself  to  do  the  work  required 
of  her,  as  though  it  were  what  she  had  been 
born  to  do.  But  once  she  was  settled  there, 
it  seemed  as  though  they  had  got  something 
they  had  wanted  all  their  lives.  Mrs.  Hilder 
knew  that  if  Hilary  left  Meadham,  she  would 
miss  her  as  she  would  miss  the  swallows  which 
came  to  make  their  nests  under  the  eaves  every 
year,  or  the  primroses  which  bloomed  in  the 
south  border  every  March,  or  any  other  sweet 
familiar  thing. 

But  what  of  Max  ?  Was  he,  too,  beginning 
to  turn  to  the  girl  in  the  way  which  meant 
that  he  would  miss  her  irreparably  if  she  went 
out  of  his  life  ?  Mrs.  Hilder  wondered  some- 
times, and  scarcely  knew  whether  she  hoped 
or  feared  most 


CHAPTER     XXI. 

IN  THE   FURROWS. 

WINTER  came  early  that  year,  and  passed 
quietly  for  the  party  at  the  Cottage.  Frances 
still  lingered  in  a  state  of  semi-invalidism,  and 
neither  mentioned  her  work  nor  said  anything 
about  returning  to  the  hospital.  Ambition  and 
energy  seemed  to  lie  dormant,  and  when  Hilary 
ventured  to  speak  of  them,  Frances  would 
merely  shrug  her  shoulders. 

"Am  not  I  providing  the  mater  with 
occupation,  which  by  your  own  showing,  my 
good  girl,  she  needed  greatly  ?  "  she  would  say. 
"  While  she  has  me  to  fuss  over  she  won't  want 
to  leave  Meadham,  which  I  suppose  is  the  last 
thing  you  desire." 

Mrs.  Pederson  was  indeed  happier  than  she 
had  been  for  months,  and  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten her  restless  desire  to  get  back  to  town. 
Mrs.  Vision  had  gone  on  another  long  visit  to 
her  friends,  and  the  care  of  the  convalescent 
devolved  upon  Mrs.  Pederson.  She  was  im- 
mensely busy,  concocting  little  messes  upon  an 


254  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  N/ECE. 

oil-stove,  with  which  she  provided  herself  when 
Margaret  absolutely  forbade  her  the  kitchen, 
and  fussing  round  Frances  in  a  way  which 
would  have  driven  the  girl  frantic,  if  she  had 
cared  about  anything  enough  to  be  worried  by 
it. 

For  Hilary  the  days  passed  heavily,  and 
that  brightness  and  buoyancy  of  spirit  which  Paul 
Kemsing  had  once  said  was  her  richest  endow- 
ment, were  only  kept  by  a  determined  effort.  She 
was  oppressed  by  an  intangible  trouble  to  which 
she  could  not  give  a  name  and  of  which  she 
could  never  have  spoken  to  anyone.  A  trouble 
she  could  not  share  always  weighed  most 
heavily  on  Hilary ;  it  was  her  nature  to  be  frank 
and  outspoken,  and  she  chafed  under  any  sense 
of  separation  between  herself  and  those  she 
lived  with,  were  it  only  one  of  thought  and 
feeling. 

Though  she  had  taken  up  the  thread  of  life 
without  any  outward  difference  when  the  Hilders 
returned  from  Wiesbaden,  there  was  a  very  real 
change  in  it.  Max  had  been  right  when  he 
said  she  would  never  again  see  the  same  Max 
Hilder.  Without  in  the  least  understanding  how 
it  had  come  about,  Hilary  felt  that  a  barrier 
had  risen  between  her  and  her  employer,  and 


IN  THE  FURROWS.  255 

she  could  no  longer  ask  him  frankly,  as  she 
once  would  have  done,  in  what  she  had  offended. 
She  was  no  longer  "little  comrade,"  and  her 
heart  grew  sore  as  the  relations  between  them 
became  more  and  more  formal.  She  did  her 
work  patiently  and  without  stint  of  labour, 
but  she  missed  the  old  enthusiasm  of  mutual 
interest,  which  had  once  given  zest  to  the 
weariest  task. 

It  was  not  possible  for  Max  Hilder  to  feel 
as  he  did  towards  the  girl,  and  for  the  know- 
ledge to  have  no  effect  upon  his  bearing 
towards  her.  Awake  to  his  weakness  and  the 
necessity  for  conquering  it,  he  placed  the  sternest 
guard  upon  himself.  It  never  for  a  moment 
occurred  to  him  that  Hilary  might  suffer  from 
a  change  of  front  she  could  scarcely,  without 
vanity,  ascribe  to  its  right  source. 

Mrs.  Hilder  looked  on,  wondering  whether 
the  policy  of  letting  Providence  manage  such 
affairs  without  human  intervention  might  not 
be  carried  too  far.  She  could  see  that  Hilary 
was  not  altogether  happy,  though  her  smile 
was  as  frequent  and  her  bearing  as  blithe  as 
ever. 

She  proposed,  as  the  spring  advanced,  that 
the  girl  should  learn  to  drive  the  little  dogcart 


256  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

used  by  herself  and  Max,  and  that  every  day 
she  should  take  them  into  the  country. 

"A  new  duty  for  secretaries,"  laughed  Max. 
"Mind,  I  shall  talk  German  folklore  all  the 
time,  Miss  Hilary.  This  mother  of  mine  seems 
to  have  no  idea  of  the  importance  of  time  to 
a  literary  man." 

"  You  may  talk  of  what  you  like ;  the  con- 
venience of  driving  is  that  at  any  moment  I 
can  become  so  absorbed  in  my  task  as  to  be 
excusably  inattentive,"  laughed  Hilary,  to  whom 
the  prospect  of  this  new  diversion  was  pleasantly 
exciting.  She  could  not  help  hoping  that  the 
intimacy  of  driving  together  might  bring  back 
some  of  the  camaraderie  which  had  once  made 
her  position  at  Fairmead  so  delightful. 

"  I  never  knew  what  real  dependence  and 
working  for  one's  living  meant  until  this  winter," 
she  said  to  herself.  "  I  used  to  think  Dante 
stupid  when  he  said  that  the  savour  of  other 
people's  bread  was  salt,  but  it  can  be  bitter  as 
Marah  water.  Work,  like  everything  in  the 
world,  is  horrid  if  it  is  not  sweetened  by  some 
gleam  of  liking,  not  to  say  love,  on  the  part  ot 
those  you  work  for." 

She  did  not  doubt  that  Mr.  Hilder  had  some 
"  gleam  of  liking  "  for  her  as  the  spring  months 


IN  THE  FURROWS.  257 

slipped  away,  and  some  of  the  old  freedom  of 
intercourse  was  recovered.  They  were  soon 
even  on  quarrelling  terms,  falling  out  about  a 
great  many  things  in  a  light-hearted  way — 
which  is  always  a  sign  of  a  good  understanding. 
Max  told  himself  that  he  had  learnt  his  lesson 
and  might  hold  himself  in  check  less  sternly. 
He  knew  that  while  life  lasted  he  should  love 
the  girl  who  brightened  his  dark  life  with  the 
radiance  of  her  strong  and  vivid  personality,  but 
he  would  keep  his  secret.  He  hugged  to  him- 
self the  thought  that  he  had  never  betrayed 
it,  and  imagined  that  even  his  mother  did  not 
guess  how  he  suffered  in  private  and  ached 
with  nostalgia  for  his  lost  sense.  The  young 
so  seldom  guess  the  keenness  of  sight  love 
gives  the  old,  and  that  to  have  suffered  and 
loved  and  lost  in  the  past  is  a  key  which 
opens  the  hidden  chambers  in  the  hearts  of 
others. 

Mrs.  Hilder  knew  well  that  Max  loved 
Hilary,  and  she  watched  the  girl,  with  yearning 
to  see  some  signs  of  affection  on  her  part. 
She  did  not  share  in  the  least  her  son's  belief 
that  his  affliction  shut  him  off  forever  from 
winning  love  or  asking  for  it.  Being  a  woman, 
she  knew  that  to  some  it  would  be  an  added 


258  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

claim,  and  believed  that  Hilary  would  only  love 
the  more  because  the  man  she  loved  needed 
her  sorely.  There  are  some  women  who  care 
so  much  to  give,  that  what  they  gain  sinks 
into  the  background.  Their  love  has  most  of 
the  divine  in  it,  and  it  makes  the  world 
a  good  place  for  the  weak.  We  wonder  some- 
times to  see  a  sweet,  strong  woman  expending 
the  wealth  of  a  noble  heart  upon  one  we  deem 
utterly  unworthy  of  her.  Yet  why  should  we 
wonder  ?  Is  not  such  love  strengthening,  up- 
holding, giving  itself  for  the  betterment  of  the 
weak,  a  far-off  copy  of  the  divine  love,  and  a  fair 
reading  of  the  old  truth,  "it  is  more  blessed  to 
give  than  to  receive"? 

Mrs.  Hilder  knew  that  Hilary,  in  the  dawn 
of  her  womanhood,  was  one  of  these,  and  she 
prayed  with  her  whole  heart  and  soul  that 
she  might  be  to  Max  "as  sunshine  in  a  shady 
place,"  and  that  to  him  should  be  given  the 
desire  of  his  heart. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

THE   AWAKENING  OF  FRANCES. 

THERE  is  a  limit  even  to  the  deepest  sense  of 
disappointment  and  failure.  So  long  as  the  sun 
shines  and  the  earth  awakes  each  year  to  new- 
ness, hope  and  eagerness  to  take  one's  place  in 
the  battle  of  life  must  stir  the  hearts  of  the 
young. 

Such  an  awakening  came  to  Frances.  She 
opened  her  eyes  one  morning  to  see  the  April 
sun  streaming  across  her  bed  and  to  hear  the 
birds  twittering  under  the  eaves,  and  knew  that 
the  hateful  apathy  which  had  succeeded  her  illness 
had  slipped  from  her.  She  saw  herselt,  as  it 
were,  from  outside,  and  felt  that  she  was  play- 
ing a  pitiful  and  cowardly  part.  To  accept 
failure  and  to  sit  down  calmly  under  it  was  a 
part  she  would  have  despised  in  anyone  else, 
and  she  would  no  longer  deal  softly  with  her- 
self. 

"I  am  strong  again,  strong  enough  for  any- 
thing," she  said,  springing  out  of  bed  and 
stretching  her  thin  little  arms.  "It  is  six 


260  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

months  since  I  came  down  here.    Six  months  1 
I  have  dared  to  waste  six  precious  months  1 " 

She  ran  across  the  room  and  knelt  down  by 
the  box  which  held  the  books  Mona  Smith  had 
sent  to  her.  Mona  had  been  so  sure  that  she 
would  ask  for  them  in  the  first  days  of 
convalescence.  She  had  neither  asked  for  nor 
desired  to  see  them  till  this  morning.  She 
turned  them  over  with  eager  fingers — the 
dear  old  Anatomy,  the  worn  notebooks,  the 
digests  of  lectures ;  the  mere  touch  of  the 
pages  sent  a  thrill  through  the  girl. 

"What  a  fool  I  have  been!"  she  said.  "I 
thought  I  had  ceased  to  care.  I  told  Hilary 
that  one  failure  had  blotted  out  the  past. 
Nothing  can  efface  the  past ;  it  must  and  does 
live  on  into  the  present,  and  it  is  just  for  us 
to  decide  whether  it  lives  as  a  curse  or  a 
blessing.  I  made  a  stupid,  hideous  mistake,  and 
the  sting  lies  in  the  fact  that  mere  stupidity 
kept  me  from  finding  it  out.  I  had  plenty  of 
warnings,  but  I  thought  myself  wiser.  It  is 
bitter  to  imagine  that  you  outshine  others  in 
brilliance,  and  discover  you  are  ridiculously 
dense.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  was  the  only 
egregious  failure  the  Hospital  sent  up  last 
half-year." 


THE  A  WAKENING  OF  FRANCES.        261 

She  sat  on  the  floor,  staring  at  the  sunbeam, 
with  her  hands  clasped  round  her  knees.  She 
had  had  so  much  time  for  thinking  during  the 
past  few  weeks ;  it  seemed  to  her  as  though 
she  had  done  nothing  but  think  in  a  circle,  and 
her  thoughts  had  resulted  in  nothing.  Now  she 
saw  them  all  at  once  crystallised  into  a  plan 
for  the  future. 

The  past  had  been  a  pitiful  mistake ;  she 
had  tried  to  fashion  a  life  which  should  touch 
no  other,  and  which  should  recognise  no  call 
so  important  as  that  of  her  own  intellect  and 
her  own  success.  The  secret  of  her  failure  lay 
there,  just  as  the  secret  of  Ursula's  success  lay  in 
taking  an  opposite  course.  Frances  had  resolved 
to  be  a  law  unto  herself,  and  she  had  recognised 
no  other,  moral  or  divine.  She  had  leaned  only 
on  her  own  feeble  strength,  and  it  had  failed 
her. 

"Let  me  never  lose  my  hold  on  Thee  again, 
Great  Power  above  us  all,"  she  said  aloud. 
"Let  me  trust  Thy  strength,  and  I  shall  not 
fail.  I've  got  the  ability;  where  I  failed 
was  in  thinking  that  it  was  everything ;  that 
there  was  no  Power  above  everything,  moving 
and  directing  affairs." 

She  would,  she   told  herself,  turn  her   back 


262  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

on  that  pitiful  past,  and  trust  the  future  to 
make  up  for  its  poverty.  The  future  must  con- 
tain good,  if  she  willed  it  so,  and  a  few  duties 
she  had  hitherto  neglected  stared  her  in  the 
face  as  a  beginning. 

She  was  still  dreaming  and  planning,  when 
Hilary  opened  the  door  and  came  in. 

"My  dear  Frances,  are  you  mad  ?  "  she  cried. 
"You  will  catch  an  awful  cold  sitting  there  in 
that  thin  dressing-gown.  Get  into  bed  at  once 
and  let  me  fetch  you  some  breakfast.  Aunt 
Sophie  will  never  forgive  me  if  I  have  to  report 
a  relapse." 

Frances  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  laugh. 

"I'm  not  mad,  I  have  come  to  my  senses 
at  last,  Hilary,"  she  said,  facing  her  cousin  with 
a  light  in  her  dark  eyes  Hilary  had  never  seen 
there  before.  "I  have  done  with  invalidism. 
I'm  coming  down  to  the  parlour,  and  I  shall 
eat  a  huge  breakfast.  I  am  going  to  work 
again  as  soon  as  ever  I  can  arrange  things.  I 
shall  go  back  to  town  and  work  in  earnest  for 
the  next  exam.  I  never  felt  so  fit  in  my  life." 

Hilary  sat  down  on  the  bed,  and  regarded  her 
cousin  with  some  apprehension. 

"  Of  course,  I  knew  the  reaction  would 
come,"  she  said.  "  You  were  not  such  a  coward 


THE  A  WAKENING  OF  FRANCES.         263 

as  to  let  one  failure  spoil  all  your  life.  But  you 
won't  overdo  it  again,  will  you  ?  " 

Frances'  lips  twitched,  and  she  did  not  answer 
for  a  moment. 

"Do  you  think,  dear,  I  have  not  learned 
anything  from  my  disappointment  and  from 
being  with  you  ?  "  she  said,  in  a  softer  tone  than 
was  usual  with  her.  "You  know  what  old 
Carlyle  says,  '  Experience  is  a  good  schoolmaster.' 
I  shall  try  again,  and  I  hope  I  shall  pass.  I 
want  to  get  qualified  more  than  I  ever  did;  I 
have  got  glimpses  of  work  I  can  do  afterwards 
which  I  had  not  before.  I  knew  all  that 
Ursula  said  about  our  opportunities  was  true, 
but  I  have  only  felt  it  lately.  Till  you  feel  a 
thing,  it  is  never  really  true  to  you." 

"You  mean  you  will  go  into  the  slums 
with  Ursula  ?  "  Hilary  cried  eagerly. 

Frances  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  know 
yet;  I  can't  tell  whether  other  things  may  not 
clash.  I  shall  not  decide  yet." 

"I  wonder  what  Aunt  Sophie  will  say  when 
she  hears  you  are  going  back  to  town,"  Hilary 
said.  "All  her  occupation  will  be  gone." 

Frances  laughed  softly.  "I'm  going  to  take 
her  with  me,  Hilary.  'Open  your  eyes  and  die 
of  surprise/  as  the  Irish  song  says.  I  have  got 


264  MRS.  PEDERSON' s  NIECE. 

used  to  her  dear  old  fussing  ways,  and  they 
won't  interfere  with  my  work  now.  You  know 
Ursula  is  qualified,  and  gone  to  her  sister  who 
lives  in  Cross  Street.  I  should  be  alone  in  my 
diggings,  and,  you  know,  I  have  never  had  to 
attend  to  my  creature  comforts,  so  I  shouldn't 
take  to  it  readily.  I  should  go  without  my 
meals  out  of  sheer  disinclination  to  prepare 
them.  Mother  will  be  perfectly  happy  ruling 
over  the  kingdom  of  my  three  rooms." 

Hilary  nodded  with  a  pleased  smile.  It  did 
not  occur  to  her  to  regret  for  a  moment  the 
little  income  Frances  was  blithely  and  all  un- 
consciously planning  to  take  from  her.  She  was 
only  too  glad  that  a  right  and  happy  relation- 
ship between  mother  and  daughter  should  be 
established.  She  knew  that  Frances'  influence 
over  her  mother  was  strong,  and  that,  with  her, 
Mrs.  Pederson  would  be  quite  safe  from  the 
temptations  of  Chivers  Smith. 

It  was  Mrs.  Pederson  who  first  thought 
what  the  parting  meant  for  her  niece.  She 
had  hailed  with  delight  the  idea  of  going  back 
to  town  with  Frances,  but  she  was  very  un- 
willing to  leave  Hilary  behind.  She  only  con- 
sented when,  to  Hilary's  firm  refusal  to  leave 
Meadham  so  long  as  Mr.  Hilder  needed  her, 


THE  AWAKENING  OF  FRANCES.        265 

Mrs.  Vision  added  her  assurance  that  the  girl 
should  be  to  her  as  a  daughter.  The  Cottage 
must  be  Hilary's  home  as  long  as  she  remained 
in  the  country. 

One  April  day  found  Frances  back  in 
London.  She  had  settled,  with  her  mother,  not 
in  the  old  lodgings,  but  on  a  large,  comfortable 
top-floor  in  an  old-fashioned  house  in  John 
Street.  The  rooms  had  been  to  let  unfurnished, 
and  Mrs.  Pederson  found  unending  pleasure  in 
haunting  second-hand  shops  in  search  of  bargains 
and  speeding  from  one  spring  sale  to  another 
in  pursuit  of  cheap  draperies.  It  was  a  return 
to  her  old  habits  which  was  like  the  savour  of 
life  to  her. 

At  the  hospital  Frances  had  been  welcomed 
by  her  old  friends  with  open  arms.  They 
crowded  round  her  at  her  first  appearance, 
asking  her  plans,  telling  her  all  that  had 
happened  in  her  absence,  and  looking  at  her 
with  eyes  full  of  curiosity.  Was  she  indeed 
the  Frances  upon  whom  they  had  built  such 
high  hopes  six  months  ago,  and  to  whom 
they  had  looked  to  bring  glory  to  the 
Hospital,  and  who  had  failed  them  so  incom- 
prehensibly? Yes,  she  was  still  the  brilliant, 
passionate  worker,  who  had  had  such  scanty 


266  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  Nmca. 

patience  with  half-hearted  students,  and  openly 
scoffed  at  those  who  gave  thought  to  other 
pursuits.  There  was  no  doubting  her  eager- 
ness to  take  up  her  work  again  and  her 
determination  to  pass  her  finals  with  honour, 
but  there  was  a  difference.  Without  knowing 
how  or  why,  each  felt  that,  during  her  absence, 
Frances  had  gained  something  she  had  hitherto 
lacked.  She  would  never  again  scoff  at  the 
student  who  loved  friends  and  pretty  clothes, 
or  sneer  at  the  dullard.  They  had  always 
been  proud  of  her,  now  they  began  to  love  her 
also. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

IN    THE    HOUR    OF    PERIL. 

ONE  afternoon  in  early  June,  Bradbrook  was 
cycling  into  Meadham,  for  he  generally  made 
Mead  Cottage  the  goal  of  his  country  rides. 
It  was  some  time  since  he  had  last  visited  it, 
and  he  was  unaware  of  the  changes  that 
had  taken  place  and  that  Mrs.  Pederson  was 
in  London  with  Frances. 

Not  that  this  fact  would  have  disturbed  him 
greatly.  He  would  have  told  himself  that  her 
value  in  his  eyes  depended  mainly  on  her 
relationship  to  Miss  Hilary,  and  that  for 
Hilary's  sake  he  would  have  travelled  farther 
and  endured  unlimited  fatigue. 

At  a  turn  in  the  road  he  branched  off  to 
the  left  and  shot  down  a  steep  incline  known 
among  Meadham  people  as  the  "gulley,"  a 
rough  track,  barely  wide  enough  for  a  waggon 
to  pass  along  it,  with  sheer,  bare  banks  on 
either  side.  It  was  a  strange,  wild  spot, 
seldom  used  except  by  foot  passengers,  and 
had  been  made  many  years  ago  for  some 


268  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

purpose  no  one  in  the  district  could  now 
remember. 

Bradbrook  had  discovered  it  on  one  of  his 
cycling  expeditions,  and  used  it  as  a  short 
by-way  to  the  Cottage.  It  cut  off  a  long 
stretch  of  the  high  road,  besides  affording  an 
opportunity  for  that  careful  riding  which  is  meat 
and  drink  to  the  enthusiastic  cyclist. 

He  had  been  riding  some  hours,  and  the  day 
was  hot.  He  decided,  therefore,  to  dismount 
near  the  head  of  the  gulley,  wheel  his  machine 
into  a  field,  and  take  a  rest  before  presenting 
himself  at  the  Cottage.  He  must  have  fallen 
asleep,  for  a  sound  close  behind  him,  a  sten- 
torian shout  and  the  grinding  and  growling 
of  some  heavy  body  moving,  roused  him  with 
a  start. 

"A  confounded  traction  engine,"  he  said. 
"There  ought  to  be  a  law  compelling  them  to 
move  in  the  small  hours.  They  are  dangerous 
to  the  common  weal,  and  especially  to  the 
cycle-wheel  if  you  happen  to  be  caught  in  a 
trap  like  this.  I'll  stay  where  I  am  till  the 
monster  has  passed." 

He  was  establishing  himself  for  another 
nap  when  there  rose  such  a  babel  of  shouts, 
mingled  with  the  snortings  of  the  agricultural 


IN  THE  HOUR  OF  PERIL.  269 

monster,  as  made  him  spring  to  his  feet  and 
run  to  a  gap  in  the  hedge  which  commanded  a 
view  down  the  gulley.  He  stood  for  a  moment 
grasping  the  rail  of  the  fence,  his  heart  beating 
wildly  with  horror  and  alarm. 

It  was  a  terrible  sight,  and  there  seemed  no 
hope  of  its  ending  in  anything  but  a  tragedy. 
The  engine  had  passed  down  the  hill  below 
the  point  upon  which  he  stood.  Down,  down 
it  went,  slowly,  relentlessly,  like  some  awful, 
unwieldy  force  no  human  power  could  stay. 
It  had  either  got  beyond  the  management 
of  the  men  upon  it,  or,  like  Bradbrook, 
they  were  so  overcome  with  fright  that 
action  was  impossible.  Below  was  a  little 
dogcart  which  had  been  crawling  up  the 
gulley,  unconscious  of  the  danger  ahead  until 
a  sharp  turn  brought  its  occupants  face  to  face, 
at  close  quarters,  with  the  engine. 

At  the  moment  Bradbrook  reached  the 
scene,  the  owners  of  the  cart  had  become  aware 
of  their  danger,  and  the  mare  had  discovered 
what  lay  ahead  of  her.  A  horse  of  iron  nerve 
would  have  been  difficult  to  manage  at  such  a 
crisis;  the  graceful  creature  below  was  high- 
bred and  nervous.  Bradbrook  watched  with 
breathless  anxiety  to  see  what  would  happen. 


2/o  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

The  dogcart  had  two  occupants,  a  tall,  broad- 
shouldered  man  who  sat  with  folded  arms  and 
appeared  to  be  taking  merely  a  spectacular 
interest  in  the  events  which  clearly  endangered 
his  life,  and  a  tall,  slender  girl  who  was  trying 
with  all  her  might  to  coax  the  frightened 
animal  to  back  down  the  gulley. 

All  in  vain  I  The  horse  was  beyond  the 
influence  of  coaxing  voice  or  firm  hand.  It 
plunged  wildly  to  right  and  left,  struggled  to 
get  a  foothold  in  the  right  bank  which 
happened  at  this  point  to  be  more  shallow 
and  sloping.  Bradbrook  saw  the  light  cart  tilt 
perilously  on  the  bank,  then  the  mare  turned 
wildly  and  tore  down  the  incline,  leaving  the 
man  and  the  girl  on  the  roadside. 

At  that  moment  Bradbrook  uttered  a  shout, 
and,  springing  over  the  fence,  rushed  to  the 
scene  of  disaster. 

"Stop  that  thing  you  must,"  he  shouted  to 
the  men  as  he  passed  the  engine.  "  You  have 
done  damage  enough  already  with  your  infernal 
engine.  Don't  risk  taking  more  life.  Reverse 
the  thing,  run  it  into  the  bank,  do  something 
for  Heaven's  sake,  it  you  would  not  be  hung 
for  murder." 

The    moment   the    mare    plunged,    he    had 


IN  THE  HOUR  OP  PERIL.  271 

seen  the  girl's  white  upturned  face.  It  was 
Hilary,  and  the  man  who  sat  at  her  side 
must  be  the  master  of  Fairmead,  going  to 
his  death,  poor  fellow,  blind  as  to  how  the 
blow  fell. 

Mr.  Hilder  escaped  as  by  a  miracle,  falling 
against  the  sloping  bank  without  ever  losing  his 
footing.  When  Bradbrook  came  up  he  was 
moving  here  and  there  with  a  face  more  white 
and  set  in  misery  than  Bradbrook  had  ever 
seen  a  human  face. 

"  Hilary  1  ...  Hilary !  .  .  .  Little  comrade  !  " 
he  was  crying,  "  Good  Heavens !  to  think  I 
cannot  find  her,  and  that  she  may  be  dead ! " 
There  was  something  in  this  futile  searching, 
this  agonised  protest  against  his  disability,  which 
touched  the  kind-hearted  insurance  agent  to  the 
quick.  In  the  flash  of  a  moment  he  knew 
that  Hilder  loved  the  girl  he  was  seeking,  and 
that  they  two  were  rivals.  Yet  no  one  could 
have  been  jealous  who  saw  that  futile  energy, 
that  pathetic  groping,  or  heard  that  heart- 
broken cry.  He  made  all  the  haste  pos- 
sible to  the  spot  and  touched  Hilder  on  the 
arm. 

"This  a  bad  business,  but  I'm  here  to  help 
you.  You  don't  know  me :  I'm  a  friend  of 


272  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

Miss  Pederson's.  Don't  you  worry — she  isn't 
dead.  She's  lying  just  where  the  turn  of  the 
cart  threw  her ;  but  she  had  a  soft  bed. 
The  clay  is  pretty  thick,  and  there  happened 
to  be  a  ledge  with  grass  over  it  handy.  I've 
a  bit  or  experience  in  dealing  with  fainting  folks, 
for  I'm  an  ambulance  man.  She  will  come 
round  in  a  few  minutes  when  I've  given  her  a 
few  drops  out  of  my  flask.  I  always  carry  a 
flask ;  you  never  know  what  may  happen.  Not 
that  one  often  gets  jobs  like  this." 

He  talked  fast  and  cheerfully  as  he  knelt 
beside  the  ledge  on  which  the  girl  lay, 
treating  her  with  that  skill  and  deftness  she 
had  admired  on  a  former  occasion.  He  guided 
the  blind  man  to  the  spot,  and  with  a  delicacy 
no  one  would  have  expected  in  him,  allowed 
him  to  hold  the  girl's  unconscious  form 
supported  against  his  knee. 

Bradbrook  felt  sure  no  bones  were  broken ; 
both  occupants  of  the  dogcart  had  had  a 
miraculous  escape.  Hilary  had  been  badly 
shaken  by  the  fall,  and  the  horror  of  the 
danger  had  caused  her  to  faint;  but,  so  far 
as  Bradbrook  could  discover,  she  was  not  other- 
wise hurt. 

He  watched  her  closely  for  a   few  minutes, 


IN  THE  HOUR  OF  PERIL.  273 

and  then  looked  at  his  companion  with  a 
gratified  smile. 

"  She  will  do  now.  Can't  you  hear  her  sigh  ? 
In  a  minute  she  will  open  her  eyes  and  wonder 
where  she  is.  There,  she  is  getting  a  little 
colour.  She  will  be  herself  directly.  If  you  do 
not  mind  being  left  a  moment,  I  will  go  up  and 
ask  those  rascally  engine-men  where  we  can  get 
a  trap  to  carry  her  home.  I  have  a  bicycle  in 
the  field,  too,  which  I  don't  want  to  leave  to 
the  mercies  of  vagabonds." 

He  ran  up  the  gulley,  and  Max  Hilder  was 
left  alone  with  the  unconscious  Hilary.  Never 
before  or  since  did  he  long  for  his  lost  eyesight 
as  he  did  that  moment.  For  knowledge  of 
how  this  terrible  accident  had  injured  her,  for 
information  as  to  how  she  was  bearing  it,  he 
had  to  depend  on  a  stranger,  whose  very  voice 
warned  Hilder  that  he  was  a  kindly  soul,  who 
sympathised  with  his  misfortune,  and  might  be 
inclined  to  say  what  was  soothing  rather  than 
what  was  strictly  true. 

Suppose  Hilary  were  dead  ?  Suppose  this 
stillness  meant  that  the  radiant  young  spirit 
was  gone  for  ever,  and  that  never  again  would 
she  brighten  his  path  as  he  trod  the  long  valley 
of  shadows. 


274  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

"  Hilary,  Hilary !  come  back  to  me  !  *  he 
cried,  with  an  exceeding  bitter  cry,  as  he  drew 
her  closer  to  him.  "Have  I  killed  you,  little 
comrade  ?  It  was  my  wish,  not  yours,  that  we 
should  drive  on  this  dangerous  path !  My  love, 
my  love !  come  back  1  life  will  be  too  hard  and 
dark  wanting  you." 

He  scarcely  knew  that  he  spoke  aloud.  In 
the  bitterness  of  his  anxiety,  shut  out  in  his 
darkness,  he  uttered  his  thought,  all  unconscious 
that  it  reached  the  heart  of  the  girl  and  recalled 
her  to  what  was  passing  around  her.  She 
opened  her  eyes,  and  her  breath  came  with  a 
little  gasping  sigh. 

"  Hilary,  little  love,  say  that  you  live,"  Hilder 
whispered,  feeling  her  face  with  gentle,  reverent 
hand. 

"  Max,  Max  1 "  she  whispered,  the  colour  flood- 
ing her  white  cheeks.  "  I  am  quite  safe.  I 
suppose  I  fainted ;  but  I  am  in  no  pain.  Tell 
me,  you  are  not  hurt  ?  I  thought  it  so  terrible 
that  you  should  be  thrown  without  being  able 
to  see  your  danger." 

"No,  I  am  not  hurt;  everything  is  well  if 
you  are  safe,  child.  Little  comrade,  life  would 
have  been  a  sorry  place  for  me  if  you  had 
gone." 


Iff  THE  HOUR  OF  PERIL.  275 

Hilary  could  not  speak;  she  clung  to  the 
arm  that  supported  her,  until  Bradbrook's 
footsteps  were  heard  and  he  came  up,  pushing 
his  bicycle. 

"  Ah,  Miss  Hilary  1  you  are  all  right  again,  I 
see.  Lucky  escape  you've  had,  I  can  tell  you ; 
but  Providence  watches  over  us  all,  and  knew 
we  could  not  spare  one  of  your  sort.  I'm 
going  to  leave  you  while  I  go  down  to  the  village 
and  fetch  some  sort  of  a  trap  to  take  you 
home.  By  the  way,  the  driver  of  that  engine 
of  destruction  says  that  if  you  will  step  a 
yard  or  two  down  the  lane,  there  is  an  opening 
into  a  field  where  you  might  shelter  while 
he  gets  by.  I  pointed  out  to  him  that 
to  ask  the  smallest  concession  of  you  was 
distinctly  out  of  place  on  his  part,  but  he 
belongs  to  that  order  of  the  human  family 
which  considers  number  one  first,  and  he  declares, 
with  the  bluntness  of  his  class,  that  he  has 
wasted  enough  time  already.  I  have  taken  his 
number  and  his  employer's  address,  in  case  you 
wish  to  take  steps,  Mr.  Hilder,  to  recover 
damages.  Now,  if  you  please,  we  will  proceed 
to  this  convenient  slope  and  see  the  clouds — 
of  smoke — roll  by.  You  won't  mind  me  leaving 
you  while  I  fetch  the  conveyance  ? " 


276  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

Hilary  and  the  master  of  Fairmead  did  not 
mind  at  all.  In  that  moment,  when  Hilary 
opened  her  eyes,  a  new  life  had  begun  for 
them  both.  Nothing  could  ever  be  the  same 
again  now  they  knew  that  they  loved  one 
another,  and  that  the  future  held  no  joy  like 
being  together. 

When  Max  told  the  girl  how,  on  the  night 
of  his  return  from  Wiesbaden,  he  had  resolved 
to  conquer  his  love  for  her  and  never  to 
hope  to  link  her  youth  and  brightness 
with  his  maimed  manhood,  she  stopped  him 
with  a  laugh  which  ended  in  something  like 
a  sob. 

"Did  you  never  think  I  should  wonder  why 
you  had  changed  to  me  ? "  she  said  softly. 
"  Ah !  and  how  could  you  doubt  me  so  ?  You 
needed  me  the  more.  Surely,  you  must  have 
known  that  I  should  love  you  better  for  that 
reason." 

"  I  did  not  know  it,  and  I  don't  see  why 
even  now,"  Max  said  quietly.  "I  wonder  if 
you  realise  all  that  you  are  pledging  yourself 
to,  child.  I'm  more  than  ten  years  older  than 
you,  Hilary,  and  you  have  known  me  scarcely 
a  twelvemonth.  I'm  a  cross-grained  fellow  at 
heart  even  when  I  manage  to  show  the  world 


IN  THE  HOUR  OF  PERIL.  277 

an  unruffled  front.  I'm  not  patient,  and  I  rebel 
a  hundred  times  at  the  affliction  which  has 
been  given  me  to  bear.  I'm  a  student,  too,  and 
times  without  number  I  shall  seem  to  care 
more  for  my  work  than  for  your  company. 
You  deserve  better,  dear,  than  to  be  tied  to  a 
blind  beggar  like  me." 

Hilary  looked  up  at  him ;  she  never  taught 
herself  that  the  clear  brown  eyes  could  not  see 
the  look  on  her  face,  and  she  believed  Max  knew 
when  she  looked  at  him. 

"To  me  you  are  just  you"  she  said 
softly.  "And  if  you  had  not  loved  me,  I 
think  I  should  have  gone  wanting  you  all 
my  days." 

When  Bradbrook  came  back,  leading  a 
little  farmer's  cart  he  had  borrowed,  he 
looked  at  the  girl's  radiant  face  and  whistled 
softly. 

"You  don't  look  as  though  you  ailed  mucn 
now,  Miss  Hilary,"  he  said  genially.  "A  boy  is 
coming  up  to  drive  you,  so  I'll  say  good-bye. 
Some  day  soon  I'll  be  down  again.  No,  thank 
you,  Miss  Hilary ;  I  won't  go  on  to  the  Cottage 
now.  There  isn't  time,  and  I  want  to  get  back 
to  town." 

He  watched  the  two  get  into  the  cart  and 


278  MRS.  PEDERSON'S  NIECE. 

drive   away,  then   jumped   on    his  bicycle    and 
rode  off. 

"It  was  a  clear  case  for  congratulations," 
he  said,  with  an  odd  roughness  in  his  voice. 
"  But  for  the  life  of  me  I  couldn't  have  worked 
myself  up  to  the  pitch  of  congratulating.  It 
takes  a  deuce  of  a  time  for  a  man  to  cure 
himself  of  the  dog-in-the-manger  spirit.  She 
wasn't  for  me,  so  why  should  I  begrudge  her 
to  another  chap  ?  I  wish  that  she  had  chanced 
to  fancy  a  perfect  specimen,  though.  Good  Lord  ! 
Hilder  needs  some  special  bit  of  good  fortune 
to  compensate  for  his  blindness.  There  must 
be  something  out  of  the  common  about  him,  too, 
for  a  girl  like  that  to  love  him  in  spite  of  his 
drawback." 

Which   shows   that   a   man  may  hopelessly 
mistake  the  working  of  a  girl's  heart. 
*  *  «  *  « 

Thus  Hilary's  dark  days  came  to  an 
end.  She  had  no  longer  to  work  "in  the 
furrows,"  struggling  for  that  blitheness  of 
spirit  which  was  once  so  easy  to  capture.  She 
came  to  Fairmead  as  its  master's  wife  when 
autumn  dropped  into  winter,  and,  through 
the  happy  years  that  followed,  still  kept  "that 
comely  fashion"  which  had  supported  her 


IN  THE  HOUR  OP  PERIL.  279 

when  she  trod  difficult  paths  ;  which  had  won  for 
her  the  love  of  a  man  who  knew  her  first 
through  this  capacity  for  "making  sunshine  in 
a  shady  place." 


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(i) 


HORATIO  ALGER,  Jr. 

One  of  the  best  known  and  most  popular  writers.    Good,  clean, 
nealtny  stories  for  the  American  Boy. 

Adventures  of  a  Telegraph  Boy  Mark  Stanton 

Dean  Dunham  Ned  Newton 

Erie  Train  Boy,  The  New  York  Boy 

Five  Hundred  Dollar  Check  Tom  Brace 

From  Canal  Boy  to  President  Tom  Tracy 

From  Farm  Boy  to  Senator  Walter  Griffith 

Backwoods  Boy,  The  Young  Acrobat 


C.  B.  ASHLEY. 

ies  ever  written  on  hum 
Fter  the  Custer  Massacre. 

Gilbert,  the  Boy  Trapper 


One  of  the  best  stories  ever  written  on  hunting,  trapping  and  ad- 
venture in  the  West,  after  the  Custer  Massacre. 


A1VNI13  A8HMORE. 

A  splendid  story,  recording  the  adventures  of  a  boy  with  smugglers. 
Smuggler's  Cave,  The 

CAPX.  RALPH   KGXEIIILL. 

Capt.  Bonehill  is  in  the  very  front  rank  as  an  author  of  boys' 
stories.     These  are  two  of  his  best  works. 

Neka,  the  Boy  Conjurer  Tour  of  the  Zero  Club 


F.  BRUNS. 

An  excellent  story  of  adventure  in  the  celebrated  Sunk  Lands  of 
Missouri  and  Kansas. 

In  the  Sunk  Lands 

FRAKK  II.  CONVERSE. 

This  writer  has  established  a  splendid  reputation  as  a  boys'  author, 
and  although  his  books  usually  command  $1.25  per  volume,  we  offer 
the  following  at  a  more  popular  price. 

Gold  of  Flat  Top  Mountain  In  Southern  Seas 

Happy-Go-Lucky  Jack  Mystery  of  a  Diamond 

Heir  to  a  Million  That  Treasure 

In  Search  of  An  Unknown  Race  Voyage  to  the  Gold  Coast 

DAVID  McKAY,  Publisher,  Philadelphia. 

(ii) 


HARRY  COLLIPiGWOOD. 

One  of  England's  most  successful  writers  of  stories  for  boys.  Hi* 
best  story  is 

Pirate  Island 

GBORGB  H.  COOMER. 

Two  books  we  highly  recommend.  One  is  a  splendid  story  of  ai'- 
venture  at  sea,  when  American  ships  were  in  every  port  in  the  world, 
and  the  other  tells  of  adventures  while  the  first  railway  in  the  Andes 
Mountains  was  being  built. 

Boys  in  the  Forecastle  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain 


DAI/TON. 

Three  stories  by  one  of  the  very  greatest  writers  for  boys.  The 
stories  deal  with  boys'  adventures  in  India,  China  and  Abyssinia. 
These  books  are  strongly  recommended  for  boys'  reading,  as  they  con- 
tain a  large  amount  of  historical  information. 

Tiger  Prince  "War  Tiger 

"White  Elephant 

HOWARD  S.  KULIS. 

These  books  are  considered  the  best  works  this  well-known  writer 
ever  produced.  No  better  reading  for  bright  young  Americans. 

Arthur  Helmuth  Perils  of  the  Jungle 

Check  No.  2134  On  the  Trail  of  Geronimo 

From  Tent  to  "White  House  "White  Mustang 


GEORGB  MANVIULE  FBTTO. 

For  the  past  fifty  years  Mr.  Fenn  has  been  writing  books  for  boys 
and  popular  fiction.  His  books  are  justly  popular  throughout  the 
English-speaking  world.  We  publish  the  following  select  list  of  his 
boys'  books,  which  we  consider  the  best  he  ever  wrote. 

Commodore  Junk  Golden  Magnet 

Dingo  Boys  Grand  Chaco 

"Weathercock 

BPtSIG!*  CLARKE  FITCH,  V.  S.  X. 

A  graduate  of  the  U.  S.  Naval  Academy  at  Annapolis,  and  tho- 
roughly familiar  with  all  naval  matters.  Mr.  Fitch  has  devoted  him- 
self to  literature,  and  has  written  a  series  of  books  for  boys  that  every 

DAVID  McKAY,  Publisher,  Philadelphia. 

(iii) 


young  American  should  read.    His  stories  are  full  of  very  interesting 
information  about  the  navy,  training  ships,  etc. 

Bound  for  Annapolis  Cruise  of  the  Training  Ship 

Clif,  the  Naval  Cadet  From  Port  to  Port 

Strange  Cruise,  A 

WILLIAM    MURRAY   <iRAYI>OX. 

An  author  of  world-wide  popularity.  Mr.  Graydon  is  essentially  a 
friend  of  young  people,  and  we  offer  herewith  ten  of  his  best  works, 
wherein  he  relates  a  great  diversity  of  interesting  adventures  in  various 
parts  of  the  world,  combined  with  accurate  historical  data. 

Butcher  of  Cawnpore,  The  In  Barracks  and  Wigwam 

Camp  in  the  Snow,  The  In  Fort  and  Prison 

Campaigning  with  Braddock  Jungles  and  Traitors 

Cryptogram,  The  Rajah's  Fortress,  The 

From  Lake  to  "Wilderness  White  King  of  Africa,  The 

LIEUT.  FREDERICK  G ARRISOX ,  U.  S.  A. 

Every  American  boy  takes  a  keen  interest  in  the  affairs  of  West 
Point.  No  more  capable  writer  on  this  popular  subject  could  be  found 
than  Lieut.  Garrison,  who  vividly  describes  the  life,  adventures  and 
unique  incidents  that  have  occurred  in  that  great  institution — in  these 
famous  West  Point  stories. 

Off  for  West  Point  On  Guard 

Cadet's  Honor,  A  West  Point  Treasure,  The 

West  Point  Rivals,  The 

HEADOX    HILL. 

The  hunt  for  gold  has  always  been  a  popular  subject  for  considera- 
tion, and  Mr.  Hill  has  added  a  splendid  story  on  the  subject  in  this 
romance  of  the  Klondyke. 

Spectre  Gold 

HEXRY   HARRLSOX   LEWIS. 

Mr.  Lewis  is  a  graduate  of  the  Naval  Academy  at  Annapolis,  and 
has  written  a  great  many  books  for  boys.  Among  his  best  works  are 
the  following  titles — the  subjects  include  a  vast  series  of  adventures 
in  all  parts  of  the  world.  The  historical  data  is  correct,  and  they 
should  be  read  by  all  boys,  for  the  excellent  information  they  contain. 

Centreboard  Jim  Ensign  Merrill 

King  of  the  Island  Sword  and  Pen 

Midshipman  Merrill  Valley  of  Mystery,  The 

Yankee  Boys  in  Japan 

McKAY,  Publisher,  Philadelphia. 

(iv) 


LIEUT.  LIONEL  LOUNSBERRY. 

A  series  of  books  embracing  many  adventures  under  our  famous 
naval  commanders,  and  with  our  army  during  the  War  of  1812  and 
the  Civil  War.  Founded  on  sound  history,  these  books  are  written 
for  boys,  with  the  idea  of  combining  pleasure  with  profit ;  to  cutivate 
a  fondness  for  study — especially  of  what  has  been  accomplished  by 
our  army  and  navy. 

Cadet  Kit  Carey  Bandy,  the  Pilot 

Captain  Carey  Tom  Truxton's  School  Days 

Kit  Carey's  Protege  Tom  Truxton's  Ocean.  Trip 

Lieut.  Carey's  Luck  Treasure  of  the  Golden  Crater 

Out  "With  Commodore  Decatur  Won  at  West  Point 


BROOKS   McCORMICK. 

Four  splendid  books  of  adventure  on  sea  and  land,  by  this  well- 
known  writer  for  boys. 

Giant  Islanders,  The  Nature's  Young  Nobleman 

How  He  Won  Kival  Battalions 


WALTER  MORRIS. 

This  charming  story  contains  thirty-two  chapters  of  just  the  sort  of 
school  life  that  charms  the  boy  readers. 

Bob  Porter  at  Lakeviow  Academy 


STANLEY  NORRIS. 

Mr.  Norris  is  without  a  rival  as  a  writer  of  "Circus  Stories"  for 
boys.  These  four  books  are  full  of  thrilling  adventures,  but  good, 
wholsome  reading  for  young  Americans. 

Phil,  the  Showman  Young  Showman's  Pluck,  The 

Young  Showman's  Rivals,  The       Young  Showman's  Triumph 


LIEUT.  JAMES  K.  ORTON. 

When  a  boy  has  read  one  of  Lieut.  Orton's  books,  it  requires  no 
urging  to  induce  him  to  read  the  others.  Not  a  dull  page  in  any  of 
them. 

Beach  Boy  Joe  Secret  Chart,  The 

Last  Chance  Mine  Tom  Havens  with  the  White 

Squadron 

DAVID  McKAY,  Publisher,  Philadelphia. 

(v) 


JAMBS  OTIS. 

Mr.  Otis  is  known  by  nearly  every  American  boy,  and  needs  no  in- 
troduction here.     The  following  copyrights  are  among  his  best : 

Chased  Through  Norway  Unprovoked  Mutiny 

Inland  Waterways  "Wheeling  for  Fortune 

Heuben  Green's  Adventures  at  Yale 


GILBERT  PATTEN. 

Mr.  Patten  has  had  the  distinction  of  having  his  books  adopted  by 
the  U.  S.  Government  for  all  naval  libraries  on  board  our  war  ships. 
While  aiming  to  avoid  the  extravagant  and  sensational,  the  stories 
contain  enough  thrilling  incidents  to  please  the  lad  who  loves  action 
and  adventure.  In  the  Kockspur  stories  the  description  of  their  Base- 
ball and  Football  Games  and  other  contests  with  rival  clubs  and  teams 
make  very  exciting  and  absorbing  reading  ;  and  few  boys  with  warm 
blood  in  their  veins,  having  once  begun  the  perusal  of  one  of  these 
books,  will  willingly  lay  it  down  till  it  is  finished. 

Boy  Boomers  Jud  and  Joe 

Boy  Cattle  King  Bockspur  Nine,  The 

Boy  from  the  "West  Bockspur  Eleven,  The 

Don  Kirke's  Mine  Bockspur  Bivals,  The 


ST.  GEORGE  RATHBORT9E. 

Mr.  Kathborne's  stories  for  boys  have  the  peculiar  charm  of 
dealing  with  localities  and  conditions  wi.h  which  he  is  thoroughly 
familiar.  The  scenes  of  these  excellent  stories  are  along  the  Florida 
coast  and  on  the  western  prairies. 

Canoe  and  Camp  Fire  Chums  of  the  Prairie 

Paddling  Under  Palmettos  Young  Bange  Biders 

Bival  Canoe  Boys  Gulf  Cruisers 

Sunset  Banch  Shifting  "Winds 


ARTHUR 

An  American  story  by  an  American  author.  It  relates  how  a 
Yankee  boy  overcame  many  obstacles  in  school  and  out.  Thoroughly 
interesting  from  start  to  finish. 

Gay  Dashleigh's  Academy  Days 


DAVID  McKAY,  Publisher,  Philadelphia. 

(vi) 


CAJPT.  DAVID  SOUTHWICK. 

An  exceptionally  good  story  of  frontier  life  among  the  Indians  in 
the  far  West,  during  the  early  settlement  period. 

Jack  "Wheeler 

The  Famous  Frank  Merriwell  Stories. 

BURT  I*.  STAKDISH. 

No  modern  series  of  tales  for  boys  and  youths  has  met  with  any- 
thing like  the  cordial  reception  and  popularity  accorded  to  the  Frank 
Merriwell  Stories.  There  must  be  a  reason  for  this  and  there  is. 
Frank  Merriwell,  as  portrayed  by  the  author,  is  a  jolly  whole-souled, 
honest,  courageous  American  lad,  who  appeals  to  the  hearts  of  the 
boys.  He  has  no  bad  habits,  and  his  manliness  inculcates  the  idea 
that  it  is  not  necessary  for  a  boy  to  indulge  in  petty  vices  to  be  a  hero. 
Frank  Merriwell' s  example  is  a  shining  light  for  every  ambitious  lad 
to  follow.  Six  volumes  now  ready  : 

Frank  MerriwelFs  School  Days    Frank  Merriwell's  Bravery 
Frank  Merriwell's  Chums  Frank  Merriwell's  Hunting  Tour 

Frank  Merriwell's  Foes  Frank  Merriwell's  Races 

Frank  Merriwell's  Trip  "West      Frank  Merriwell's  Sports  Afield 
Frank  Merriwell  Down  South     Frank  Merriwell  at  Yale 

VICTOR  ST.  CLAIR. 

These  books  are  full  of  good,  clean  adventure,  thrilling  enough  to 
please  the  full-blooded  wide-awake  boy,  yet  containing  nothing  to 
which  there  can  be  any  objection  from  those  who  are  careful  as  to  the 
kind  of  books  they  put  into  the  hands  of  the  young. 

Cast  Away  in  the  Jungle  From  Switch  to  Lever 

Comrades  Under  Castro  Little  Snap,  the  Post  Boy 

For  Home  and  Honor  Zig-Zag,  the  Boy  Conjurer 

Zip,  the  Acrobat 

MATTHEW  'WHITE,  JR. 

Good,  healthy,  strong  books  for  the  American  lad.    No  more  in- 
teresting books  for  the  young  appear  on  our  lists. 
Adventures  of  a  Young  Athlete  My  Mysterious  Fortune 

Eric  Dane  Tour  of  a  Private  Car 

Guy  Hammersley  Young  Editor,  The 

ARTHUR  M.  WINFIEI^D. 

One  of  the  most  popular  authors  of  boys'  books.  Here  are  three 
of  his  best. 

Mark  Dale's  Stage  Venture  Young  Bank  Clerk,  The 

Young  Bridge  Tender,  The 

DAVID  McKAY,  Publisher,  Philadelphia. 

(vii) 


GAYLE  WINTBRXON. 

This  very  interesting  story  relates  the  trials  and  triumphs  of  a 
Young  American  Actor,  including  the  solution  of  a  very  puzzling 
mystery. 

Young  Actor,  The 


A.  YOUNG. 

This  book  is  not  a  treatise  on  sports,  as  the  title  would  indicate,  hut 
relates  a  series  of  thrilling  adventures  among  boy  campers  in  the 
woods  of  Maine. 

Boats,  Bats  and  Bicycles 


DAVID  McKAY,  Publisher,  Philadelphia. 


(TIM) 


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2T  3  o  IE  SO 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  769  841     8 


